The Wagner incident
by Nilgandater
Summary: A young boy with extraordinary abilities faces foes from within and outside the Imperium.
1. Chapter 1 Forged

**After some time spent on work, family, and world domination I have finally added the 1st chapter after the prelude. Working on the next chapter now where we will see more of Shubs ordeals and the first hints of imminent danger. If you have questions, requests, suggestions please review or send a PM :)**

**This is my first fan fiction piece based in the Warhammer 40.000 universe. I am a long time player of the tabletop game and dabble in the occasional game of Only War (RPG) If the story pleases the readers of this website I will continue to add to it.**

**I neither own the Warhammer 40.000 universe nor do I work for any of the companies who do own it **

**Chapter 1 In fire forged**

**Segmentum Tempestus, Orpheus Sector, Wagner System, Wagner Secundus , Munitorum Refinery 223.88**

Awake. Coughing, muttered curses and the repetitive whine of faulty machinery recycling stale air.

Shub opened his eyes, waiting patiently for his vision to get accustomed to the dim lights in the room he shared with about two dozen others. A variety of smells assaulted his senses, none of them pleasant: sweat, urine, the stink of rotten teeth and other bodily odours.

As the rest of the occupants noisily went about their routines the boy warily scanned his surroundings as he reached under his filthy shirt to check if his few meagre belongings were still there. His hands grasped the pouch and sighed with relief. Grown men were killed over trinkets these days he was pretty sure people would have no qualms over killing him for what he carried.

Slowly he traced the shape of the small Aquila pendant hidden in the pouch, its edges warm to the touch and worn by a thousand similar caresses.

The metal pendant represented the last link with his past. A past he knew very little off. He was 12 years old, terran standard, and had been working in Manufactorium Forge Gamma IX for as long as he could remember. The years of hard labour in the claustrophobic tunnels and hallways had aged him beyond his years. Tall for his age, his body was thin and packed with wiry muscles and covered in welts and scars from various accidents, fights, or lashings by one of the overseers. His head was covered in short stubble as all the labourers were doused with a chemical mixture once every month to kill parasites with the added effect of removing all hair. Grey eyes set in a thin face with a rather hawkish nose gave him an inquisitive air.

Taking a moment longer Shub recalled his parents. The chaos of a large city. Massed humanity screaming, Enforcers shouting and cracking skulls and limbs left and right with great mauls. The face of his mother in the distance, mouth working furiously to make herself heard over the din of the crowd. Then the sound of explosions and a wave of violence as thousands of men and women surged as one to flee. Pain as he fell, a young boy only, tossed aside and trod upon. Then darkness.

Six years ago but still every detail was as clear and precise as if it had happened seconds ago. In those six years he had come to realize he was different and that his mind sometimes pulled strange tricks on him.

A mechanical voice started droning a litany of labour over the Manufactorum network and Shub's eyes opened. His attention once again on his surroundings and the figure towering over him. The boy was 3 years his senior and vastly larger. A broad face with slightly porcine features connected to a flabby chest with no discernible neck and arms and legs like enormous pillars of flesh.

One could have mistaken Gorond for a grown man had it not been for the childish grin on his face as he studied Shub.

He playfully swatted Shub on the shoulder, knocking him over in the process. "Still dreaming Shub? You'd better hurry up or Overseer Malnaden will have your hide"

The giant of a youth extended a large beefy hand and pulled Shub from the ground.

"If you didn't insist on behaving like a drunk Grox I would have been on my way to the forge already Gor!" Shub replied with a grin. He ducked another of Gorond's playful swings, punched the young man in the side (achieving about as much effect as a snotling poking a hillside) and darted towards the doorway of the dormitory where the rest of the labourers were already on their way to work.

Despite being a spectacular physical mismatch Shub and Gorond had become friends from the moment they first met. After Shub had awoken one day in a grimy holding pen covered in bruises and bandages he would have lost it if it hadn't been for the lumbering adolescent trying to calm him.

Claiming to be the son of an underhive trader Gorond had explained to Shub that they were part of a large group of children and young men captured and forced into service as labourers.

After crying for days on end and several beatings by other labourers Shub learned that it paid to fade into the background and blend with the crowd. Endless days of pushing carts filled with ore or carrying stacks of components left him with very little time to think about his misfortune.

His fellow labourers consisted of hundreds of grim men and children, most claiming to have been robbed of their freedom and forced to work. Not many complained for long though. The lashes of the overseers took care of the loudest protestors and those that continued to voice their objections were taken and never seen again.

In these strained social settings violence and crime were commonplace. Theft, beatings, even murder.

Shub and Gorond soon discovered that they were a natural team. Shub was smarter and faster and had a miraculous gift for retaining knowledge while Gorond was extremely strong for his age with a natural aptitude for cracking heads and throwing punches. In their first months as captive labourers they had fought, lied, and threatened their way into their natural place in the social ecosystem.

"I hear the Fangers are planning to raid the med bay tonight" Gorond whispered as he walked next to Shub through the cramped hallways. Shub glanced furtively at his surroundings "Quiet!" he whispered anxiously "If anyone hears us talking about raids or gangs we will be sent to the butchers for sure!" Gorond shrugged "The butchers are just scary stories told by the overseers to keep us in line" "Besides, I would do anything to get out of this hellhole"

The two boys kept their voices down and their pace up as they moved down the dark corridors of the Manufactorum. As they progressed the temperature increased and the rhythmic sounds of pistons and machinery could be heard in the distance. Only the occasional servitor crossed their path, blank eyes staring out of a pasty white face, movement's mechanical and devoid of any grace. Shub shuddered as he passed them and made the sign of the Aquila before hurrying onwards.

The tunnel opened into a cavernous hall lit from within by hellish fires erupting from forges and machines dotting the area. The workers quickly moved to their designated workstations where Shub and Gorond retrieved a set of shovels to fill carts with some type of rock. Around them hundreds of men worked in the terrible heat and smoke. The air was filled with grunts of effort and the occasional curse.

Shub cursed in pain as a heavy piece of rock tumbled from its position and landed on his foot. He had been loading carts for several hours now with only a brief pause to greedily gulp down the canteen of warm water they were given. He rested his weight on the shovel for a few seconds to regain his composure.

"Back to work you worthless piece of scum!" a voice bellowed behind him followed by a cracking sound and intense burning pain on his back. Stunned by the sudden pain Shub could only lie on the floor and grit his teeth. Standing right next to him was a tall muscular man dressed in a drab grey uniform. A skullcap left only his eyes and snarling smile bare. In his hands he held a whip worn with years of intensive use.

Several workers glanced from their workstations but took care not to attract any attention. Gorond glared at the overseers back with barely contained hatred but kept shovelling rocks.

"I beg forgiveness Overseer Malnaden" Shub said as he got back on his feet, taking care not to look the man in the eye.

The man cracked his knuckles "If you are not fit to work then you are worthless, scum" he eyed the other men nearby staring at each of them in turn."There is no room for weakness in service to the God-Emperor" "So you had better all get back to business or the butchers will have a busy night ahead of them" With a final look of disdain the Overseer moved on.

As soon as the Overseer had left Gorond rushed to Shub's side. "You all right?"

Shub grimaced and straightened his back. "I am used to the whip, it's my foot I am worried about" he said as he carefully tried to move his foot. Immediately he winced. "I think its broken Gor"

Gorond cursed and looked around. "Can you still stand Shub?" "If you make it through the rest of the day we can see the Doc over in Block 12"

The boy carefully put his foot down taking care to only put pressure on the heel. He nodded to his friend "I think I can manage until end of shift if that frekking Overseer doesn't show up.

"**Frekkin **overseer eh?" a sneering high pitched voice exclaimed. A group of five young men stood in a semi circle around them. They were obviously labourers as well with thick muscles and various scars and burns. Compared to the general populace they looked well fed though and they wore arrogant smirks on their faces.

The leader of the group eyed Shub and Gorond contemptuously "I think we shall have to inform Overseer Malnaden of your treacherous and filthy language"

Shub's mind raced as he tried to recall everything he knew about these individuals. Every detail and possible weakness. Immediately he remembered their names: Kel, Griffor,Vuzius, Wyrzbowski, and their leader Horst. All from the same upper Hive gang originally ,with some form of leverage with the Overseers and Enforcers. As his extraordinary mind sped up and made connections the information kept flooding. Griffor and Vuzius were addicted to inhaling bloodmist, a highly toxic drug causing hallucinations and internal bleeding. Wyrzbowski had a younger brother working in Manufactorum Delta IV whom he protected at all costs. Kel had a torn ligament in his right knee from a workplace accident five weeks ago. And Horst too had a weakness...

In mere seconds all this information wormed it's way into Shub's consciousness arming him with a powerful weapon.

With a smile Shub stared into Horst's eyes. "You and I both know why you will do no such thing Horst"

"What in Thrones name are you talking about?" Horst replied. Shub mentally took note of the slight twitch in Horst's left hand and the slight discolouration in his face and neck.

The two locked gazes for what seemed an eternity. Suddenly Horst whirled around and walked off, his face twisted in a mask of rage and his henchmen following him with bewildered expressions.

Shub exhaled and realized he hadn't drawn breath for quite some time.

"What was that all about?" Gorond inquired. "On second thought, I'd rather not know"

"Let's just get back to work and try and not avoid any more unwanted attention." Shub said biting away the pain. Sweat ran down his head and back but despite the oppressive heat he shivered.

**Manufactorium Forge Gamma IX, a secure room far from prying eyes**

"_The boy is learning to use his strengths at last." A robed and hooded man sat behind a console showing various screens, all of them focussed on the face of a young boy with grey eyes._

"_Forces are in motion and we dare not delay" The man sighed deeply. "Proceed as planned._

"_As you command Master" From the shadows a hulking shape emerged, pallid flesh merged to cold steel. Cables and tubes connected to a large saw-like device. An emotionless face with a thick metal grille covering mouth and nose._


	2. Chapter 2 Freedom

**Chapter 2 Freedom of form**

Wagner Secundus was the second most important planet in the Wagner System. Once a fertile agri-world, that had changed dramatically when valuable minerals and ores were found in the planets tectonic plates.

Over a period of centuries great machines harvested the upper layers of soil and processed them for resources. Wagner's farms and orchards were replaced with gargantuan factorum buildings housing millions of workers. Great Hive cities dotted the landscape like metal pustules on the planet skin, oozing chemical waste, toxic smoke and human excrement.

Gamma Quadrant was one of the sectors located in the northern continent nestled right next to a massive mountain range rich in several valuable types of raw material. It was also the sectors foremost producer of the Wagner class Mark VII Lasgun, a humble weapon wielded by millions of guardsmen throughout the sector. Over a dozen near identical city sized Factorums churned out the base components required to assemble the Mark VII.

All this had a cost however. With the notable exception of industrial ores the planets other resources were depleted: Water needed a lengthy process of purification and food had to be either imported from one of the systems Agri-moons or produced from recycled waste.

Never the less Wagner's populace toiled endlessly under the watchful eyes of the Administratum. Most of them technically still free men but with little hope of a life beyond labour from cradle to the grave.

Captain Tannhauser of the Wagnerian Planetary Defence Force straightened his uniform as he paced the interior of the top room of one of the many foreboding grey plascrete watchtowers that rose all around the perimeter of Manufactorum Gamma IX. A pair of well maintained heavy stubbers faced out towards the barren wasteland surrounding the huge complex. On any given day a pair of PDF troopers would be manning the guns as well as a squad equipped with an auspex and voxcaster.

This evening the Captain shared the room with only one other occupant. Tannhauser glanced nervously at the other man as he ran his hand through his thinning grey hair. With five decades of active PDF service age was starting to take its toll on his once excellent physique.

"I assure you dear Captain; you have made the right choice by assisting me in this matter." The man spoke with a soft cultured voice in complete contrast to his muscular build and ruthless gaze. Clad in the garments of one of the nomadic scavenger tribes of the toxic wastes the man easily stood 7 feet tall and moved with the controlled efficiency of a seasoned killer. "_Tribal smuggler my iron bollocks" _Tannhauser thought as he eyed the balanced curved blade the man carried in a leather scabbard on his back. _"This man is military if ever I laid eyes on one, former guardsman from one of Wagner Primus regiments judging by his accent"_

"The righteous men doing the Emperor's work here deserve their small pleasures to distract them from their hard work." Tannhauser said, more to justify his actions to himself then to sway the opinion of the so-called tribesman. "Besides, I'd rather have them indulging in some minor intoxicants then raping or killing." The other man nodded "Just so, Captain, just so" "You are sure my men will be able to move through the perimeter undetected to deliver their goods?"

Tannhauser checked the readings on the pictscreen of his data slate."All eyes are turned away for the moment" The captain swallowed and adjusted the collar of his uniform."On the matter of delivery...Have you brought my share of the goods?" The tribesman flashed a predatory smile "Naturally dear Captain I have reserved the finest sample for your enjoyment" The man snapped his fingers and two similarly clad men emerged from beyond the room carrying a heavy casket.

As the Captain eagerly moved towards the casket and its contents, dozens of men clad in camouflaged tribal clothing and armed with lasguns and wickedly curved blades moved stealthily past the guard tower towards Manufactorum Gamma IX.

_The dream was always the same, at least initially. Shub walked through opulently decorated hallways in a huge complex. No matter where he turned or what door he opened there were always more doors and hallways. And everywhere mirrors reflecting his own face. Beyond his sight a choir sang a beautiful hymn to the God-Emperor. A sense of urgency caused him to look around for a way out. He ran though door after door until finally he emerged in a large hall empty but for a single chair with a man in it facing away from him. He dreaded the moment but knew that it would come regardless of the illusion of choice and free will. Slowly he walked towards the chair. He paused for a moment to study the garment of the chairs occupant: a well made uniform of some sorts crafted from grey cloth with various golden laurels and decorations on the shoulders. Shub reached out to grab the person by the shoulder when suddenly it lurched from the chair, spun around and screamed: jaws stretched wide under eyes stitched close with thick metal wire. A loud bloodcurdling scream that spoke of agony and torment._

"Wake up you recycled heap of dung!" Shub's eyes snapped open, the unearthly scream still ringing in his ears. Hovering next to him was the round face of Gorond wearing a worried look. "I thought you were being strangled in your sleep by the noises you were making!" Shub's friend frowned."I thought I heard a scream coming from outside the room earlier"

It took a while for Shub to recover from the disconcerting dream as usual. He checked the makeshift brace the Doc had made for him to ensure proper healing of his foot. Thankfully it was only a minor fracture.

Gorond cocked his head and sniffed the air. "Something is wrong" Around them the other workers stirred awakened by the conversation.

One of the workers eyed them dangerously and spat on the ground "Shut the frek up boy before you make me get up and…"

The door exploded inwards bursting apart in several jagged shards of plastic and a PDF trooper clutching a still smoking shotgun appeared in the opening scanning the workers inside before shouting at them "Move your asses to the forges, the Manufactorum is under attack!"

The trooper disappeared into the corridor outside with the sounds of screams and lasfire faintly in the background.

Shub and Gorond stepped out of the room into the hallway."What in Thrones name is going on?!" Gorond asked to no one in particular as he heard more gunfire in the distance interspersed by high-pitched shrieking. "More importantly" Shub interjected as he pointed to an intersection a few feet away. "What in the name of the Golden Throne is **that**?"

In the dim lighting a hunchbacked creature tested the air with a serpentine tongue. It was vaguely human and clad in rags but sporting crablike claws instead of hands and its face was dominated by three bright unblinking eyes. Thick red liquid dropped from its pincers. Its disturbingly feminine mouth opened wide in a fanged smile as it noticed the two boys gaping at it.


	3. Chapter 3 Learning the hard way

Chapter 3 Learning the hard way

Enforcer Makin ejected another depleted power cell for his lasgun and rammed in a fresh one. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. Around him the cavernous hall of Forge Delta resounded with the crack and hiss of lasfire and the screams of the dead and dying.

"Eberhard watch your flank!" Makin shouted as a gibbering humanoid with a froglike head rushed towards their defensive position brandishing a crude spiked club. A salvo of lasfire erupted from the enforcer's barricade and the creature crashed to the floor pierced by several well aimed shots.

Makin took aim and fired off another shot hitting a spindly four armed man in the leg causing the wretch to hiss in pain and fall to the floor where a barrel-chested worker finished him off with a crushing swing of a mallet to the chest.

His group of six enforcers were in cover behind a barricade of overturned carts and boxes. They had lost four men already since the mutants attacked an hour ago and already they were running low on ammo. In the hall across from their defensive position all hell had broke loose. Mobs of workers armed with various tools were fighting for their lives against a raging horde of mutants.

Over there a hulking monstrosity, all glistening flesh pounded a man to bloody pulp with great fists. In a corner several fanged and clawed women feasted on a screaming worker, and in the central area around the main forge a menagerie of twisted and deformed creatures were locked in a vicious melee with the surviving workers.

"Grex try the voxcaster again!" Makin shouted at the dazed looking Enforcer a few feet away. The man had taken a knife to the abdomen earlier and was slowly bleeding out.

Grex turned a pale face to his fellow Enforcer "No use... Mak. No response from Captain Tannhauser" He coughed violently and clutched feebly at his tunic already slick with blood. "Were frekked Mak"

"For the Emperor! Kill the mutants! Avenge the fallen!" With a roar a large group of workers armed with pneumatic drills, plasma-cutters and pickaxes charged out of one of the tunnels connecting the Forge hall to the rest of the Manufactorum complex. Leading them was an overseer armed with a whip in one hand and firing an autopistol with the other. With his face set in a fanatical grin beneath his skullcap the overseer fired a burst of shells into a group of mutants sending several of them tumbling to the ground bleeding profusely.

Rallied by the appearance of reinforcements the remaining workers fell upon their foes with renewed vigour stabbing, crushing and sometimes even strangling their mutated opponents with their bare , Makin and his fellow Enforcers fired their lasguns into the mutants cutting several of them down with well placed shots.

"Look Mak the PDF have come at last" Grex whispered as the other Enforcers charged towards their mutant foes with lasguns blazing. Emerging from another tunnel a dozen heavily armed men in camouflaged outfits spread out and prepared to open fire.

The Enforcer mercifully died before he could see his comrades cut down by methodical and ruthless lasfire.

Shub stared at the creature in horror as it licked its red lips and snapped its two pincers rhythmically. It seemed aware of the fear the two boys exuded as its flicked its tongue seemingly tasting the air. "What precious sport you will make manlingsss" It hissed as it advanced.

"Run Shub" Gorond whispered to the younger boy. "I will try and hold it off" Shub shook his head.

"Run you Grox-brained idiot, RUN" Gorond shouted as he suddenly accelerated into a headlong charge. Conditioned by year after year of hauling ore and lifting heavy equipment, Gorond combined the strength and stamina of a full grown man with the fighting prowess of a seasoned street fighter.

The creature, caught slightly off guard could barely manage to swing a blocking pincer in place to deflect a crushing fist to its face. It quickly recovered however using a deft twist of its stance and Goronds momentum to send him hurtling past and crashing to the floor. It rushed forward to finish its prone prey. Gorond lashed out with a sweeping kick hitting the creature in mid stride and sending it to the floor where its head hit the stone with a loud crack. Immediately he capitalized on his advantage and pounced on its back hammering several strikes into the creature's neck.

With a sudden twist the creature managed to dislodge Gorond and land a kick in his stomach. He grunted with the impact but grabbed the foot with his left hand and swung the right hand at his attacker.

As Shub watched in horror the Mutant twisted one of its arms at an impossible angle and caught Goronds descending forearm between the serrated edges of its pincer. A horrible snapping sound rang out and Shubs friend screamed in pain as his hand was removed forcibly from his forearm. Blood jetted from the stump showering the grinning mutant.

"Run Shub RUUUN!" Gorond roared as he clutched his injured arm. The mutant cackled and moved closer to the wounded boy.

Somewhere in the distance an explosion rocked the building and dust and bits of debris fell from the ceiling.

Shub snapped and ran.

Behind him the sound of snapping pincers was followed by a long and bloodcurdling scream.


	4. Chapter 4 A knife's edge

Chapter 4

Fidelus Maldanen was not afraid of death. As men around him died clutching smoking wounds he whispered a prayer to the God-Emperor on Holy Terra to accept his final service. He struggled to keep from crying out in agony; his legs peppered with scorch marks where the traitors had hit him multiple times.

The group of workers he had led in glorious combat against the mutants had been mercilessly cut down by a large group of treacherous PDF Troopers.

With the ambush completed the leader of the traitors spoke a blasphemous word that was painful to hear and seemed to defy the laws of sound and logic. The remaining mutants acknowledged the traitors presence and began feasting.

Even now traitors moved amongst the wounded reaping a bloody harvest with their curved blades. As they killed they laughed and joked sometimes pausing to take extra time to prolong a workers suffering.

The old overseer reminisced about his life at Gamma IX; the harsh conditions, the lack of friends, but also his service to the Emperor. He had not been able to join the Imperial Guard as he had wished as a youth but he had spent his entire life devoted to the Imperial creed and devotion to He who sat on the Golden Throne.

The sound of a heavy boot stepping in a pool of blood snapped him out of his thoughts. A broad shouldered, dark-skinned man approached him with a predatory smile. Disturbingly, his teeth had been sharpened to pointy fangs accentuating the carnivorous look. The man's camouflaged cloak had parted at the front revealing an intricately decorated carapace breastplate. He thumbed the edge of his curved and serrated blade lovingly, drawing a thin line of blood. "Ah old man change is coming, sweet release, sweet release" He murmured.

Maldanen faced his assassin with an unwavering gaze."I return to the Emperor's embrace with great joy and comforted in a life spent serving the glory of his works"

"Your devotion to a stale, dying Empire is pathetic old man" The traitor spat. "I will enjoy your suffering" He stepped forward, his blade raised.

The aged overseer closed his eyes overcome with emotion for the first time in many years and whispered in High Gothic "Consummatum est"

As Overseer Fidelus Malnaden depressed the activation rune on the mining demolitions charge hidden beneath his body everything within a 12 feet radius was instantly vaporized by a fierce blast of chemically fuelled fire. Those further away were ripped apart by the wave of pressurized superheated air roaring through the Forge Hall. Those far enough to survive the direct blast were torn to shreds by the shrapnel and debris.

Red emergency lights winking on and off. Dust in the air. Echoes of tortured screams. The sound of his own feet running across the worn stone corridors of Gamma IX. Garbled hymns to the Emperor still rang from the speakers but they were interspersed with static and ululating cries and laughter.

Shubs mind raced as he fled without apparent sense or direction into the dimly lit corridors of the Manufactorum complex. On an emotional level he was still reeling by the loss of his friend Gorond but on an analytical level his unique mind was calculating and processing. So even though he did not consciously know where he was heading he took a very specific series of turns and branching walkways heading deeper and deeper into the vast production facility.

The way his mind worked never ceased to amaze those around him but to the boy it was just a part of who he was. He had an amazing gift for recalling minute details and could sometimes make logical connections on a level only found in sacred advanced cogitators. Even more disturbingly he sometimes seemingly anticipated future events by subconsciously calculating probabilities. And there lay both the strength and weakness of his gift: It had the potential to be powerful beyond imagining yet he had very little control over it.

Shub passed a storage room where a worker and mutant lay entangled one with a tentacle around the others throat while his victim still grasped the knife buried in his chest. He stopped and hesitated taking a moment to catch his breath.

Inching closer he recognized 'Old man Gazlow' an infamously paranoid man prone to bouts of rage. Gazlows face had turned an ugly purple and his tongue hang from his parted lips. The mutant was of a more or less normal human build with the exception of a right arm ending in a thick muscled tentacle now constricted around the old man's neck and throat. Various symbols had been etched on its body with a dark red ink. It hurt Shub's eyes to watch the way the symbols seemed to flow into each other and even writhe on the spot. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. Carefully he pried Gazlows fingers of the hilt of the knife. It took considerable effort to pull the blade out, Shub had to resort to planting a foot on the mutant's chest and pulling with his entire weight but eventually the knife released with a grating sound.

The blade was nearly as long as his forearm and made from a broken tool sharp as a razor with a wicked serrated edge. Shub tentatively swung the blade though the air getting a feeling for its weight and balance. Even at his age he was no stranger to knife-fighting having learnt the trade from some of the toughest men and boys in the Forge. What he lacked in strength he compensated in speed and the uncanny ability to read his opponents style. He killed his first man when he was ten years old when the man had tried to corner him in a dark corridor to have his way with him.

He started as heavy footsteps resounded from the hallway. His mind worked: two sets of footsteps too heavy for a normal worker wearing the ubiquitous shirt and pants. The hard clack of metal plates in boots hitting the stone floor suggesting combat-boots. One set of steps at a slight variance to the other indicative of a slight injury to the left leg. Six seconds before they reached the room. Shub plunged his hand into the mutants bloody chest wound and dragged his hand across his own throat and slumped down near the door, the knife loosely in his hand, his breathing slowing to a barely audible whisper. Two tall dark skinned men entered the room wearing camouflaged flak armour and carrying modified lasguns and several fraggrenades.

"Three dead, one mutant, room clear" The first man through the door said, covering the room with his lasgun. He brushed some dust from his beard with the back of his hand. The second man came through the door limping slightly and favouring his right leg. He was horribly scarred and had a series of metal rings pierced through his nose, cheek and ears. "Acknowledged" the second man grunted. He shouldered his lasgun and retrieved a lho-stick. "Check the bodies for ammo and intel" he said as he lit the lho-stick and kept an eye on the corridor. The first man sighed and went for Gazlow and the mutant first nudging them in the side with his metal capped boot. Shub peeked breathlessly as the man set down his lasgun on the ground and kneeled next to the two corpses patting them down and retrieving various small trinkets.

Time slowed to a crawl as his prodigal mind kicked into action laying down a plan of action. His heart resounded deeply in his chest sounding off the course of action. He inhaled deeply._** THUD-thud **__One _Whisps of smoke drifted past him from the second trooper standing in the doorway as he silently rose from his spot near the door._** THUD-thud**_ _Two _In three fluent strides he padded towards the kneeling form of the other man. With his right hand he slashed the serrated knife across the man's throat _**THUD-thud **__Three_ With a quick tug he pulled the pin on one of the fragmentation grenades hanging from the man's belt. He whirled and sprinted for the door just as the second trooper turned to see where the gurgling noise was coming from._**THUD-thud**_ _Four _Shub exhaled explosively,sliding across the floor feet first he slashed the knife across the troopers unprotected right knee. Crying out in pain the man grabbed his knee and crumpled to the ground as he unexpectedly put his full weight on his already injured left leg._**THUD-thud**_ _Five _Shub got to his feet and launched himself to the side curling up protectively and covering his ears. _**THUD-thud **__Six _The world briefly ended as a tremendous flash of light lit up the room and hundreds of razorsharp fragments propelled by explosive force shredded the contents of the room.

Time lurched back into its regular gasped for air as he regained his senses. Sensations flooded in as he tried to shake the ringing sound in his ears. The smell of chemical explosives, smoke, scorched flesh. The crackle and pop of small fires consuming scraps of clothing. The sound of his own laboured breathing and the feeling of his heart thumping in his chest. He quickly checked his body for injuries and upon finding himself shaken but whole he got up and continued on his way deeper into the bowels of Gamma IX.


	5. Chapter 5 Service to the God Emperor

**Chapter 5 Service to the God Emperor**

The servitor walked the corridors of Gamma IX and the hooded man followed. Standing nearly 8 feet tall the amalgamation of flesh and steel dwarfed the man in its wake. Its previous identity long suppressed and forgotten it lived only to serve. And service in the case of Unit 44D-I76 consisted of delivering death at the business end of its various deadly grafts. Attached to its right elbow and powered by several cables was a bulky chainsaw fitted with industrial grade mineral teeth sharp enough to cut through armoured bulkheads. Its left arm terminated in a large metal claw fitted with a wrist-mounted pulse laser weapon capable of taking out targets at considerable distance.

Scores of wounds marred its pale flesh, the result of previous encounters with the mutants and insurgents that roamed the Manufactorums halls and passages. Mere nuisances for a Delta Grade combat servitor. With great methodical steps it ploughed through a makeshift barricade housing the flayed corpses of two enforcers. As it scanned the passage beyond a hail of autopistol fire erupted as four mutants rushed from a nearby room barking harsh war cries. Several of the small calibre rounds hit the servitor's necrotic flesh and impacted on the layer of sub dermal armour plating. 44D-I76 tracked the mutant in the lead and discharged a salvo of overcharged las shots leaving its target a smoking corpse riddled with holes. The three remaining mutants split up to flank the servitor. A creature sporting bonelike protrusions from its forearms rushed at its side and was promptly decapitated by the roaring chainsaw. The remaining two, a pair of humanoids covered from head to toe with small writhing tentacles, saw an opening and barrelled in swinging their meat cleavers. A well placed strike buried itself in the servitor's side and foul green liquid oozed from the wound. Without a moment's hesitation the servitor wrapped both limbs around the mutant and crushed it in a bear hug. The remaining mutant rushed past 44D-I76 and charged the hooded man who stood waiting with his arms folded across his chest. As the creature raised its cleaver for the killing strike the large reinforced steel claw of 44D-I76 enveloped its head and crushed it like an overripe anki-fruit.

"You're getting slow" The hooded man remarked as he brushed some spatters of blood and cranial fluid of his robe. The servitor turned its head towards the man and plucked the cleaver from the place where it was still stuck in its abdomen."Previous engagement was 12.4% faster than current operation standard Master." Its emotionless voice sounded from the metal grille where its mouth used to be. The old man sighed "Never mind"

The unlikely pair continued down the corridor moving at a steady pace and without facing any more resistance. "The boy will move towards Sentinel-tower and we must make sure we are waiting for him there." The man said to his companion."There is too much at stake here to allow him to escape" The hulking servitor continued its methodical advance without looking back "As you wish Master"

**1.5 Kilometres above Manufactorum Gamma IX at the pinnacle of Sentinel Tower**

The wind lashed the armoured exterior of the imposing structure towering literally over the huge Manufactorum complex. At this altitude Wagner's wounded ecosystem generated gale-force winds saturated with the many chemicals emitted as a waste-product. An unprotected man would find his flesh blistering and flayed within minutes here if he could somehow resist being swept away by the force of the wind. Sentinel tower bristled with arrays and antennae and several landing platforms extended from the central bulk of the tower. At the very summit of the tower an ugly structure strategically oversaw the entire area. Within its bulk, shielded by thick plates of plascrete, the command and control centre for the Manufactorum was bustling with frantic activity

"Enginseer, the power in sector 14 has gone down"

"Enginseer, the machine spirit of Forge Theta has passed beyond this realm

"Enginseer, hostile forces are nearing the hallway to elevators 2 and 3"

Two dozen servitors, hardwired into their workstations reported their findings to a central red-robed figure seated upon a mechanical throne. A web of cables was plugged directly into the figures body and two snakelike mechadendrites writhed around his bulky form manipulating cogitator engines and auspex-arrays.

Enginseer Pejan processed all the incoming data and directed tendrils of his awareness to where it was needed. Had his respiratory system not been replaced long ago he would most likely have had sweat running down his face and body. Sharp pulses of pain stung him through the biofeedback of his MIU as he intimately felt every explosion and malfunction within the complex. A burst transmission of Binary informed him of the status of his last remaining maniple of combat-servitors: 4 units operational, 2 inactive, 4 destroyed. Bolt ammunition at 12%.Powercells at 56%.When his Manufactorum had come under sudden internal attack he had reacted with commendable efficiency and speed sealing off passages and corridors with emergency bulkheads to prevent the attackers from moving through the complex unimpeded. As ranking Enginseer of a Manufactorum supposedly far from the theatre of war he did ,however, only have a small contingent of armed servitors at his disposal. Calculating the best strategy Pejan had placed these servitors in a series of hallways leading to the 3 elevators that granted access to the command centre at the top of Sentinel tower. The cybernetically enhanced warriors had reaped a bloody toll, cutting down wave after wave of mutants with their advanced bolt weapons and high-powered lasguns. Only when the traitor PDF had joined the fray had they been forced to give ground as the better equipped troopers made good use of cover and heavy weaponry to take out the servitors one at a time.

The four remaining servitors had positioned themselves behind a quickly erected barricade of debris and metal plating with their backs to the two main elevators they were charged to defend at all cost. Pejan had rigged the third elevator as a trap as several traitor PDF had discovered when they plummeted to their death. Opposing the servitors were nearly two dozen PDF troopers firing their lasguns from positions of cover. They scored several hits but the heavily armoured servitors were beyond the minor inconveniences of small arms fire. As one servitor blasted apart a PDF trooper with a well-aimed explosive bolt round it took a direct hit by a krakgrenade fired from a compact grenade launcher. The grenade exploded on the servitors left shoulder sending its arm flying off and caving in the left side of its head. The servitor staggered and fell over backwards right arm feebly clutching at the air. A ragged cheer went up among the attackers and they quickly advanced to take advantage of the defensive gap.

Fighting the searing biofeedback of his servitor's death Enginseer Pejan barked a series of instructions."Cut off power to the ventilation system near the elevators. Seal bulkheads 4.22, 4.24 and 4. venting of chemical furnace K7 to tertiary system and override safety protocol!"

As the PDF Troopers moved in for the kill most failed to notice the massive bulkheads closing off the corridor that provided entry to the hall where they battled the servitors for access to the elevators. Neither did they notice the ventilation ducts opening and the ominous sounds of valves and shutters locking in position. What did grab catch their attention was the billowing clouds of superheated smoke being vented forcibly into the hall. Those closest to the noxious grey smoke started coughing violently and falling to the ground retching and clawing at their eyes and throat. The others rushed to the exit only to find it blocked by massive bulkheads intended to withstand raging industrial fires. The servitors having respiratory systems vastly superior to their biological equivalents switched off their air-intake and methodically moved through the crowd of asphyxiating troopers and finished them off with well placed las shots. Within minutes the slaughter was over leaving 22 traitor PDF troopers dead or dying on the floor. The remaining three servitors moved back to their defensive positions, weapons raised scanning the surrounding area.

Back in the command centre Enginseer Pejan allowed the ghost of a smile to appear on his face as he set to the task of cleansing the system of toxic smoke and resetting his deadly traps.

**Manufactorum Gamma IX, a walkway overlooking assembly hall 9. 2.4 kilometres from Sentinel Tower**

As silent as a corpse and looking very much like one the 12 year old boy crept along the walkway. Every few meters he would stop and lay completely still to avoid being spotted by the large group of traitor PDF troopers that were mustering in the hall below. He noticed they wore the camouflaged cloaks of tribesmen from the wastelands but behaved very differently. Unlike the nomadic traders who struggled to survive in the outdoors in ragged, disorderly bands; these men moved in ordered groups with an obvious command structure. He spotted several men carrying heavy weaponry: a heavy stubber, several grenade launchers and even an autocannon.

Standing apart from the rest were a grizzled veteran PDF trooper and a mutant sporting a third arm from its chest. The mutant wielded a wicked knife in each of its three hands, making chopping motions to accentuate its point as it vigorously argued with the trooper.

_Subconsciously Shub took note of the various mannerisms of the troopers and apparent officers: the markings on their armour denoting rank, the way some of them trembled with barely contained narcotic induced frenzy, the mark of needles on arms and necks. He noted the whispers and furtive glances, the way the men handled their weapons and which troopers seemed weaker than others. All these things were burned into his mind and much more: Orders shouted, prayers offered to strange entities, and interspersed between all the words and gestures and sounds always a single name returned: The Dark Prince_

The gathered troopers hoisted their weapons and moved away leaving the assembly hall empty. From the safety of his perch Shub watched the men leave. If he wanted to make it out of this alive he would need to find some way out of the Manufactorum. Which was easier said than done with a structure the size of Gamma IX.

As an Adeptus Mechanicum Deimos IV class production facility the structure housed over 14.000 human beings when operating at full capacity. Its myriad hallways and corridors stretched for countless kilometres with some passages so old and forgotten that no living being had traversed them in decades. Its foreboding dark-grey facade rose several hundreds of meters from the ground bearing only stylized Aquila and cog symbols as decoration. Entire generations of men had lived and died within its industrious halls without ever seeing the light of day.

Navigating without the aid of a data slate or auspex was a recipe for disaster yet Shub moved from doorway to doorway like a spirit at home in the labyrinth of machines and forges. Intuitively he knew which turn to take and what parts to avoid. He was starting to get tired. With the rush of adrenaline out of his system the fatigue and hunger flooded in. In his current condition even the moulds that grew on the bottom of some of the pipes seemed appetizing but he knew that eating them would only lead to an agonizing and drawn out death. Stumbling along another corridor the boy found a small pool of water where steam from a damaged pipeline had condensed and trickled down into a dent in a metal plate. Despite his misgivings he bent down and drank the water. It tasted horribly like metal and dirt but it slaked the worst of his thirst. By all rights he should have been scared witless but for some reason he felt focussed and imbued with a strange sense of purpose. Invigorated by the water he continued on his way. Moving at a brisk pace he could not help but whisper again to himself that name _The Dark Prince_


	6. Chapter 6 Arise

Chapter 6 Arise!

Oh glorious joy! Most delicate of pleasures and sensations! Soon to be his again. Small droplets of sweat trickled down the side of Captain Tannhausers face as he gently opened the lid on the exquisitely crafted metal box in front of him. Every part of its exterior was painstakingly engraved with various scenes of debauchery and sin. The inside of the box was padded with the smoothest of red velvet. Within it lay a device of obvious xenos origin: A crystal globe was set in an elegant silver frame shaped like a spider with the globe forming the spider's abdomen. The legs of the silver 'spider' ended in needle points. Eight small but elegant red gems decorated the frame forming the 'eyes'. Within the globe swirled the object of Tannhausers undivided attention. A smooth luscious, purple liquid that sparkled when the light hit it at the right angle. The captain licked his lips as he rolled up the sleeve on his uniform to expose the veins on his right arm.

'_Desire' how wonderful a substance it was. Ever since its introduction among the workers and Planetary Defence Force on Wagner Secundus its use had skyrocketed. When injected the narcotic offered visions of the users wildest dreams and desires in amazingly realistic detail. For those who spent their lives working for the Imperium it offered a moments respite from endless toil and production and a means to get in touch with their darkest wishes and urges. With the widespread use of Desire came an increase in violent crime, sexual assault, and intoxicant-related deaths. It had been quickly outlawed by Imperial law resulting in a shift from easily accessible drug to a highly elitist narcotic reserved for those with power and influence. As the addicted workers went through withdrawal they became increasingly desperate. Those in power that still had access languished in their mad desires and slid increasingly towards corruption._

Having locked the door to his private chambers Captain Tannhauser sat down on the edge of his bed and gently placed the arachnid construction on his bared arm. As soon as the apparatus touched his flesh the eight 'leg-needles' slid gently into his skin causing bright ruby droplets of blood to well up. An unseen mechanism pumped the thick purple liquid into his bloodstream and his eyes glazed over. His breathing quickened as the elaborate mix of exotic components interacted with his body. He gasped as the first visions revealed themselves.

_The stench of promethium permeated his nostrils as Commander Tannhauser surveyed the battlefield from the turret of his Leman Russ Battle tank. The heavy chugging sound of the two sponson-mounted heavy bolters was followed by a series of explosion as the projectiles detonated in the ranks of greenskins massing in the distance. "Company ADVANCE! Kill the xenos in the name of the God-Emperor!" He shouted as he gestured forward with his intricately decorated Mars-crafted power sword. The rays of the sun bathed him a golden light and reflected off the many medals decorating him for valour and duty. Around him the men of the 1__st__ Wagner Armoured Company chanted his name as they advanced on the Orks, determined to add yet another victory to their company's impressive tally._

The spiderlike constructed nestled closer against the Captain's arm, sharp limbs further impaling his flesh. Thin metal proboscis extended from its 'head' and squirmed their way across his arm, over his chest and towards his head. With a quick thrusting movement the thin metal cables entered his nostrils causing a small trickle of blood to emerge and stain his uniform.

_The scene shifted. Commander Tanhauser waved at the roaring crowd gathered on Ultima Plaza, the centre of Wagner Prime's capital city. An honour guard of six towering Astartes flanked him, resplendent in their purple and black power armour. They held golden swords aloft in a salute to him: the greatest military commander ever to come from this sector. "They adore you my Lord" His aide said to him, almost shouting to make herself heard over the din of the cheering crowd. Her bright green eyes gleamed with pride and love as she laid her hand on his shoulder. Long black hair framed her hauntingly beautiful face. She moved closer to him, her voice lowering. "Come inside my Prince, there is ...entertainment befitting one of your rank waiting for you" He allowed himself to be guided inside the palace where he could already hear the sound of music and laughter._

Captain Tannhauser lay on his back on his small bed. Sweat running from his body and mingling with the bloodstains already there. Several tubes extended from the spider construct now firmly attached to his arm and were latched to his chest and abdomen pumping liquids in and out of the old man's body. An unnatural cold permeated the room leaving a coating of frost on the wall and floors. The apparatus' eyes sparkled with energy.

_Commander Tannhauser, no Lord Tannhauser stood at the head of a grand banquet. His mighty frame was draped only in a silken loincloth affording his mesmerized audience a glorious view of his tanned and oiled musculature. A great host of physically perfect men and women sat around the table, scantily clad and engaged in whispered conversation and caresses. Tannhauser beamed with pride and fondness as the great double doors of the feast hall opened to allow a procession of six servants to carry in a great gilded platter covered with a silver cloche. A central spot on the table had been cleared for the servants to gently lower the platter. In the background a choir of weeping angels sang an oddly atonal hymn. Tannhauser let his gaze go around those assembled in his honour and feasted his eyes on every detail of their delectable presence: the nubile bodies writhing with barely suppressed desire, the hungry looks. Here a young man wetted his lips as he eyed the silver cloche, there an androgynous creature caressed a curved blade. _

_Tannhauser felt a sense of foreboding as the hairs on his neck stood up and a shiver went down his spine. He shook his head and grabbed his crystal glass to drink away his discomfort. _

_As he raised the glass to his lips he noticed the thickness of the crimson liquid which gave of an overpowering coppery scent. _

_A pair of servants decorated as part human, part crab creatures lifted the cloche with a theatrical gesture. Tannhauser dropped his glass as he saw what was revealed._

_Lord Tannhauser screamed._

Captain Tannhauser screamed and all who dwelled within the halls of Manufactorum Gamma IX screamed with him. Reality rippled and warped around the tortured body of the old PDF officer as the silver spider construct expanded and contracted, growing an impossible number of extra limbs and eyes. Pits of darkness emerged where his eyes had been and his flesh bulged unnaturally as his muscles seemed to seek escape from within his mortal frame. His voice was broken but still wailing as wickedly sharp horns emerged from his warping skull. For hundreds of meters around glass shattered and small objects ignited as the tortured screaming continued. With a sickening tearing sound the creature that was once Tannhauser, elongated and expanded sending skin and blood flying outward. Then all was quiet except for the sound of soft laughter as the demon stretched its back and patted the silver spider that scuttled across its arm.


	7. Chapter 7 paid in full

Chapter 7 Paid in full

The ship was old and black as the darkest night. It lay silently on the far side of Wagner Secundus single moon shielding it from detection. Its enormous engines lay quiet and not a single flare of light betrayed its presence. Its four kilometre long, elongated hull was reminiscent of a predator waiting in ambush for its prey. Unlike most warships it did not sport markings or symbols to denote its affiliation. Inside its cavernous halls and walkways there were no milling masses of crewmen toiling at their stations nor were their cargo holds filled with merchants' wares or soldiers geared for war. A solemn, intimidating silence dominated instead of the hissing and creaking of engines and valves. Yet not all was empty in the ancient ship.

A towering structure decorated with gothic spires and crenulated edges sat in the centre of the ship offering a commanding view of the turrets and arrays positioned on the main deck. Towering statues of saints long forgotten lined the bridge situated at the very apex. Within, a white marble floor led to a grand set of doors standing tall and wide enough to let a Leman Russ Battle tank pass through. The door itself was crafted from a rare and exotic alloy that shimmered and reflected the low lighting and depicted the Emperor of mankind wreathed in flame in full armour wielding a large sword. Beyond the door lay a large round chamber spacious enough to house hundreds of men. Censers dangled from adamantine chains swaying ever so gently in the artificial gravity, emitting fragrant clouds of smoke. In the centre of the room a man was seated on mechanical throne hovering just above the floor. A multitude of cables connected the man to the apparatus feeding and extracting fluids from his ruined body. Of his mortal flesh only his head and chest remained and even there the hand of the Adeptus Mechanicum could be seen in an exquisitely crafted bionic eye and the many diagnostic devices attached to his torso. No hair remained to frame a wizened face that spoke of centuries of experience. Piercing grey eyes were currently fixed on the ground. His right arm was a Mechanicum crafted replacement forged from what seemed to be a single piece of dark grey iron. His left arm was decidedly non-human: sacrificing standard anatomy for an array of probes, tools, and weapon mounts. The stumps of his legs interfaced directly with the mechanical throne connected by a series of neural interfaces and cables. A flock of five small half-mechanical winged cherubs flitted about the man whispering in his ears and humming prayers. A Skull in front of a stylized letter I with three crossbars depicted on the mechanical throne denoted the man's allegiance and unquestionable authority.

An almost undetectable hum and vibration caused the man to straighten in his throne and wave away the attending cherubs. In a semi circle around him various holographic images appeared projected by apparatus hidden in the chambers vaulted ceiling. Starting with a larger than life symbol of the inquisitorial rosette they were accompanied by a complicated series of smaller symbols circling the rosette. The symbols blinked in and out of view accompanied by ghostly voices singing a wordless choral piece. Each combination of icons and music functioned as a unique identifying code for a sender somewhere else in the galaxy. Only several dozen men and women in the Empire were aware of the holographic communication system and only a handful were actually authorized to use it. After a rigorous series of checks and double-checks to assure authentication, the Inquisitorial symbols faded to be replaced by life-sized holographic representations of their owners. Seven projections of men and women studied each other and the man in the throne in silence before one of them raised his voice.

"All praise the Emperor and his undying Empire." The man intoned with a gravelly voice. His facial features were hidden by a voluminous hooded robe although the upper part of golden power armour could be seen. "My peers, we are gathered to address the escalating situation in the Wagner system." "As you are aware, the forces of the arch-enemy are in motion and threatening to destabilize the Wagnerian region of space." "What interest is this minor system to us Lord Terran?" a female voice interjected, oozing with contempt. A tall regal woman with fiery red hair and classical patrician features made a theatrical gesture. "We waste the Ordos resources to discuss minor incursions; sedition and rebellion the likes of which occur daily in hundreds of systems throughout his majesties Empire." A chorus of muttering arose from the other projections some expressing their displeasure or agreement. "Lady Segara, although everything that transpires against the Emperors will should warrant our attention I understand the Ordo Xenos reservations against the resources requisitioned for this situation. Allow me to explain the necessity of this gathering of august men and women." The man called Lord Terran paused for a moment seemingly to listen to some voice speaking outside the view offered by the holographic projection. "Lords and ladies, centuries ago the High Lords of Terra sanctioned a project of singular importance to mankind. It was an endeavour to further refine the process of genetic enhancement utilized in the creation of the Astartes legions. Over a period of decades suitable subjects were requisitioned and good progress was made in selecting the most promising genetic lines. Unfortunately the projects leader and chief Magos Biologis, Patrox was accused and convicted of several forms of heresy. In the name of our most holy Emperor he and his staff of several thousand were sentenced to death and executed fifteen years ago. Patrox did not go down easily however. In the battle to deliver the Throne's justice hundreds of Arbiter and inquisition forces lost their lives. In the chaos of battle several of the programs Apex subjects were unaccounted for."

A strikingly handsome man with golden locks and fair blue eyes cleared his throat:"Lord Terran, my thanks for your explanation but all here are aware of the details of the Patrox Heresy." The man brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, a strikingly casual gesture."What we are not aware of is the need to convene with some of the most venerated representatives of our respective orders" Voices were heard agreeing on the matter, some of them angry. The Lord Terran raised his hand to quiet them."I give the word to Lord Barat Ruil of the Ordo Machinum"

The man ensconced in his mechanical throne nodded in acknowledgement to the Lord Terran and turned to look at each of the projected Inquisitor Lords."Inquisitorial order Alpha-2456-GX-40, an order directly from the High Lords of Terra." Lord Ruil paused for the importance of this to sink in."In the aftermath of the Patrox Heresy the council ordered the remaining Apex subjects to be found and developed to further the interests of the council. Five subjects were tracked down: One had gathered a band of pirates and was raiding the trade routes near Angevinn and has since been reclaimed. A second had fallen to corruption and mutation requiring termination with extreme prejudice. A third subject is currently imprisoned on Mars under strict supervision and training by the Ordo Hereticus and Machinum. A fourth subject was lost during warp travel aboard one of the black ships travelling to Terra. The fifth and last subject was inserted in the Wagner System in a controlled conditioning experiment. You must realize: each of these subjects represents an investment of astronomical proportions in Imperial assets. It is the will of the High Council that they are developed to their full potential. The movements of the Arch-enemy in the Wagner system are now threatening this project."" It is imperative that we secure the Wagnerian subject before we lose control of the system to the Arch-enemy. Emperor knows what the ruinous powers could accomplish if they managed to get their hands on this project." Ruil gestured and a dazzlingly intricate hologram appeared above his head depicting a golden throne surrounded by a swarm of sigils and symbols. A collective whisper indicated the awe of those gathered."Please verify this Imperial Authentication Symbol and acknowledge when your cogitators have completed the task." Lord Ruil waited patiently in his throne as one by one the gathered holograms indicated authentication by means of a flashing azure Aquila symbol.

"In the name of he who sits on the Golden Throne I invoke Inquisitorial prerogative and summon the aid of the inquisitors and their Ordos gathered here." The Inquisitors gathered nodded and acknowledged compliance by means of a series of coded symbols attached to their holographic projections. One by one they shimmered and disappeared as they received a burst transmission of highly encoded data.

"The Emperor protects" Ruil whispered as he remained alone in the empty chamber.

Lazlo kicked the bearded man in the face and fired three quick shots into his chest as the worker dropped his mallet and stumbled backwards clawing at his broken nose. With a joyous roar he jumped over the twitching corpse, savouring the smell of burnt flesh and freshly spilt blood. Around him his fellow cultists ripped into the Manfucatorum workers with reckless ferocity. Poorly armed men were being cut down all around him by his fellow PDF and their mutant allies. The halls and corridors resounded with screams of pain and desperate pleas for mercy.

The attack had been thoroughly planned and trained for months in advance. Being in service to the dark gods did not mean mindlessly hurling oneself at the opponent. Weapons had been stockpiled and supplies had been subtly rerouted to provide the resources needed for the Wagner rebellion. Over the last decade the cult had managed to subvert high ranking officers in most regiments and had established an effective secret organisation dedicated to both indulging in excess and promoting its members interests. Opponents of the cult had been either reassigned to unfavourable postings or occasionally downright murdered. While the majority of the recruits were unaware of the cult's dark origins most officers of rank were well aware of the heretical nature of their brotherhood. Troopers were indoctrinated and supplied with gradually increasing doses of combat narcotics and hallucinogenic substances until they were caught in a spiral of increasing debauchery and excess.

"Area secure sir" a trooper said as he slapped another power cell in his lasgun. The man was clad in the same camouflaged gear as Lazlo and grinned as he surveyed the carnage. "The men have killed those who resisted and are rounding up the rest even as we speak" "Once we control the command centre we can resume production within several hours" Lazlo slapped the trooper on the back."Keep focussed on the objectives, there will be more than enough time for pleasure later." The trooper marched off with his squad and headed further into the tunnels. Lazlo checked his lasgun then motioned the rest of his squad towards the far end of the hallway."What the frak is that?" he swore as two figures, one man-sized and one much larger emerged from a shadowy alcove. They appeared to be a servitor and some sort of robed scribe. Three of his men were already jogging forward when Lazlo noticed the barrels protruding from the servitors arm. He only had a second before the world around him erupted in a storm of laser fire and screaming.

The man and his servitor walked through the hallway at a brisk pace taking care not to slip on the pools of blood or the various limbs scattered around. The squad of heretics had been frantic but woefully unprepared to deal with a combat servitor and a veteran of six decades of fighting. According to their Data slate they should be nearing the elevators leading to the Command Centre. The one place where they should be able to complete their objective. All that stood in their way was a force of several hundred heretics backed by a veritable tide of mutants and the occasional mob of violent Manufactorum workers.

Shub snuck a quick glance around the corner of the stack of crates he was hiding behind. The route ahead was blocked by a group of five mutants huddling together around a corpse. So far they had been too absorbed in their meal to notice him but it was just a matter of time before they would be on the hunt again. Nervously he clutched the Wagner class Mark VII lasgun he had pilfered off a dead PDF trooper. Even though he could name every single mechanical part in the gun and the corresponding litany to please the resident machine spirit ( Manufactorum Gamma IX produced millions of them annually) he had never actually fired one before. Avoiding the gruesome creatures would have been the best option but unfortunately they blocked access to a room Shub knew contained food and water. He desperately needed to regain his strength after hours of exertion and stress. He was already feeling light headed and his muscles were cramping.

The smallest of the pack of mutants, a hunchbacked creature that moved about on clawed hands and feet raised its bloody face and sniffed the air."More prey near brothers" It hissed as it sniffed the air and turned towards Shubs hiding place. "Frak it" Shub said and stepped out from behind the crates. He did not have the time or energy to run. Deep within him a part of his mind had already calculated the time he had left before succumbing to the effects of dehydration and fatigue. It was now or never. With some effort he raised the lasgun to his shoulder, the movement strangely familiar, and took aim. The mutants had by now abandoned the gutted remains of the Factorum worker and were advancing on the boy in an ungainly but deceptively fast loping gait. He flicked the switch to allow for a higher fire rate, released the breath he was holding and pressed the trigger. A hail of searing laser bolts crossed the intervening distance, each hitting an eye or neck or other vulnerable spot and flash-boiling the surface tissue followed by cauterization as the extremely high temperature seared flesh and bone. Leading the barrel he switched targets without blinking and caught them midstride. Unarmoured and with no protection whatsoever the mutants fell to the floor hissing and screaming. Shub kept pulling the trigger even after the charge pack had run out, a low chime indicating the machine spirits displeasure at the uncouth treatment. With his mouth ajar he gazed in disbelief at the carnage he had wrought.

"It feels like an extension of your own body does it not?" The low voice startled Shub and he whirled around pointing his gun at the speaker. The robed man held his hands out in front of him palms facing outward to signal his intentions. The hulking blood-stained servitor standing behind the man did little to calm Shubs anxiety."You have a natural talent for marksmanship young man" Despite the awkward situation Shub felt some pride at the compliment. He scanned the man for any sign or detail that would provide him more information. The man's robe was of a nondescript gray fabric, sturdy but obviously worn from use. A voluminous hood covered most of his head revealing only a square chin, thin lips framing a smile and the twinkling of eyes. Shub noted the bulge of the robe revealing the armour underneath and the hilt of some type of bladed weapon hanging from a belt. He subconsciously noted the absence of any visible mutations or PDF markings categorizing him lower on a threat scale.

"You are hungry and tired young man" the man said as he pulled back the hood revealing a scarred and pitted face."You need not fear me or my companion" he made a gesture at the servitor standing menacingly behind him. The man turned and walked towards the storage room."Like you, we are loyal servants of the God-Emperor in a difficult situation." The door opened to reveal boxes of Manufactorum rations and canisters of drinking water. Keeping an eye on the servitor Shub dashed for the room and started ripping open a canister. He felt a sense of immense relief as the lukewarm water poured down his throat revitalizing his strained metabolism."Take care to eat only a small amount or your stomach will have great difficulty handling it" The man warned Shub. Taking the advice to heart he opened a packet and took a few bites of the bland grey paste, carefully chewing before swallowing."My name is Shub, who are you? And what are you doing with that machine-man?" He paused to take another bite."Where did you get all those weapons and how come you haven't been killed by those soldiers?" The man chuckled "Easy now, one thing at a time: My name is Franciscus, Brother Franciscus Alfieri to be exact. I serve the God-Emperor in various ways." Franciscus studied the servitor for a moment."This servitor is just one of the God-Emperors tools, it has served me well." He turned back to Shub again and removed the weapon from his belt and swung it into full view. His hand gripped a thick hilt protected by a sturdy, spiked hand guard. From there a rectangular metal compartment decorated with silver scripture merged into a hooked cross guard from which a chain-blade nearly a metre long emerged."This Shub is a chain sword, the God-Emperors gift to enlighten the wayward, and in time you will come to know it as you know your own limbs." Shub gazed in awe at the deadly weapon taking in every detail: the flowing letters in High Gothic, the viciously hooked teeth, the markings and scratches, the dark red stains. "The reason I have not been killed by the heretics is because I killed them before they could do so." Franciscus thumbed the activation rune on his weapon causing the teeth to spin so fast they could no longer be tracked by the naked eye. The sword produced an angry buzzing sound. He swung the weapon in a lazy figure eight. "Once you are done eating and drinking you will accompany me Shub" Franciscus said switching off the weapon again and hanging it from his belt."There are too many enemies in this Factorum, it is only a matter of time before they find us and corner us." He retrieved a data slate from within his robes and studied the screen."There should be a landing platform and several shuttles at the top of the command centre. From there we should be able to make it to a safer place." He looked at Shub with a friendly smile and extended his hand to help him up. The boy looked at Franciscus trying to gauge his sincerity. The man was obviously armed and dangerous yet his friendly demeanour and easy smile were comforting."You can count on me Franciscus" Shub said as he accepted the extended hand allowing him to be pulled up. "Now where do I get one of those fancy swords?"


	8. Chapter 8 By the Throne

Chapter 8

All across Wagner Secundus scenes similar to those in Gamma Quadrant played out. Cults among the Planetary Defence Force, long hidden in the shadows erupted in open rebellion slaughtering thousands of innocents. In the Alpha quadrant a series of meltabombs detonated collapsing the vast complex housing the planetary seat of Imperial power. Tens of thousands of administratum clerks and scribes died crushed by rubble or slowly suffocating. In only a few cycles, violence erupted and shattered the Imperium's control over the planet.

A ragged fleet of ships emerged from the warp broadcasting maddening noise and static on all vox-channels. Numbering over two dozen ships of vastly different size and shape the fleet shared a common crew of homicidal pirates intent on plunder and mayhem. Despite a heroic effort Wagner Secundus token fleet of system defence ships quickly fell to the agile raiders and their boarding crews. The crewmen fought valiantly in defence of their ships but were slaughtered in brutal close quarter fighting.

Acrid smoke filled the air accompanied by the distinctive smell of burning flesh. The sky seemed to weep tears of ash and brimstone at the desecration of Wagner Secundus. A large band of cultists clad in PDF uniforms rested for a moment in the ruined streets. Most had daubed their breastplates with vile runes and several sported trophies taken from victims. A group of trembling civilians huddled close together, held at gunpoint. An overweight officer with pale skin and small brown eyes set in a porcine face walked past the captives at a leisurely pace. Grinning broadly he sharpened a large curved knife as he inspected the catch."A fine herd men, a fine herd indeed." His voice was thick and sibilant with saliva. "I believe we have earned some recreation for our efforts, get them inside!" The cultists chuckled in anticipation as they herded their captives towards a large warehouse soliciting cries of fear and desperation. A woman, eyes circled grey with exhaustion broke and ran cutting the soles of her bare feet on the rubble. One of the heretics raised his lasgun but the fat officer stopped him."Wait" he said with a smug look. The woman looked over her shoulder but kept running as fast as she could, her laboured breathing interspersed with ragged sobs. She was halfway across the street when a wailing sound shattered the air. A strange creature all sinewy limbs and sickening colour scuttled sideways from behind a building its long prehensile tongue flicking out and hitting the woman in the neck as if the creature wanted to taste the desperation. She stumbled and fell to the ground as her muscles suddenly ceased functioning. The horrid creature moved to stand over her protectively and commenced with gently peeling away skin and flesh with a pair of razor-sharp claws. Although she was unable to use her muscles to flee or scream her eyes showed the agony she endured. After enjoying the spectacle for a moment the heretics ushered the captives towards the warehouse.

The warp trembled with anticipation as more and more people died gruesome deaths. In some places the veil was stretched so thin that lithe androgynous creatures managed to pass between worlds to unleash madness on the material realm. Everywhere on Wagner Secundus the daemons stalked and fed on the sensations of terror and pain. Within the bowels of Manufactorum Gamma IX the creature that was once Tannhauser stalked and fed as well. Its sleek predatory form stalked the hallways of the Manufactorum sampling delights left and right as it left a trail of mutilated corpses in its wake. Some men stood their ground and fought it, some fled for their lives, some even pleaded but all died under the ministrations of its claws and fangs.

Five large men charged from a chamber, armed with large powered tools designed to cut metal and rock. One man fired a stub pistol at the Daemon as his compatriots moved to attack from different angles. It laughed out loud as the low calibre solid rounds ricocheted off its unnatural skin. With its left claw it grabbed one of the rushing attackers by the head and squeezed. A sickening crunching sound and the daemon dropped the lifeless man, blood and brain matter dripping from its claws. Its right claw blazed with warp fire and with a hurling motion a bolt of blazing warp-energy rushed through the air catching the man with the stub pistol on his arm. He screamed in agony as the pistol melted into slag and the flesh sloughed off his arm by the intense heat. The remaining three circled the daemon warily, taking turns to lunge at the creature with a powered pick or a diamond-tipped drill. A diagonal strike was easily parried by the daemon and it stepped forward to disembowel its assailant. The two men broke and ran but with a few swift strides the daemon was upon them and tore the limbs from their body. It paused a moment to gaze at the carnage it had wrought then moved on.

Franciscus had a distracted look as he softly whispered to himself leaving Shub to wonder about his companions' sanity. The man focussed again and turned to the boy."The situation is escalating, there are assets in transit but we need to get to the landing pads on the command tower if we want to stand a good chance of being extracted." Shub nodded having understood only a part of what the man said. He checked his lasgun again; he had managed to find a few more charge packs along the way, and made sure it was set for rapid fire. The twelve year old looked like a ganger from some underhive, filthy with sweat and grime, haggard looking but with a gleam of deadly intent in his eyes. He was quickly becoming used to the adrenaline and constant danger. It felt...Natural to the boy. As if in conflict he could express his true self. A series of terrifying shrieks up ahead shook him out of his reverie. Franciscus ushered the boy forward keeping him near the protective bulk of the combat servitor and drew his chainsword."Stay near the servitor, it will keep you safe. Understood?" "Understood, both the boy and servitor echoed" For a religious man he knew how to handle a weapon Shub thought as he followed Fransiscus through the tunnels and rooms of the Manufactorum. The oddly matched trio proceeded carefully passing several scenes of battle. Shub took in the bodies and atrocities and shuddered at the thought of a similar fate befalling him. The very air seemed suffused with the stench of death and the coppery smell of blood made breathing an unpleasant business. "Who is coming to help us Franciscus?" Shub whispered as they moved stealthily through a huge hall filled with debris and wrecked crates. The bearded priest looked over his shoulder at the boy with a reassuring smile."The Emperor protects young man" Not feeling reassured at all by this rather vague answer Shub continued:"But the Emperor is far away on Terra, how can he protect us here?" "Trust in the Emperor for he is your Shield, Fight for the Emperor for he is your salvation, Die for the Emperor for he is the one true God" the priest recited solemnly."It is one of the 177 litanies of Faith" "Even though some see them as mere prayers they can and should be taken as literal guidelines. There is no worthier cause then to die serving the master of mankind" Shub nodded. Instinctively he understood Franciscus' deep devotion and the strength he found in it. Rationally however he still did not understand how a distant Emperor could help them here on Wagner Secundus. "We are within 1 hundred metres of grid location 49727.84 Master" The servitor droned suddenly."Good now all we need to do is take the elevator to the control centre and we should be fine." Franciscus beamed to Shub. They moved on taking care to stay in cover as much as possible. The area in front of the elevators looked as if a fierce battle had been fought. Piles of dead cultists and butchered servitors lay spread around the area and nearly every part of the walls and ceiling was damaged by the impact of weapons. Checking for any surviving cultists they made their way to the nearest elevator. Franciscus pressed a combination of runes and the doors closed. Moments later the enclosed cabin shuddered and started the long journey to the upper areas of the Manufactorum.

With a shrieking sound followed by the sudden rush of displaced air three enormous armoured warriors appeared in the middle of the warehouse. The figures towered over the stunned cultists in their dull black power armour, the tallest cultist barely reaching to their breastplates. The nearest chaos worshipper had only a moment to gawk in complete surprise before a giant warrior with chains across his breastplate and a tabard cut him in two diagonally with a huge ornate power sword. Blood sprayed in a great arc splattering the Astartes and the surrounding heretics. One of the other warriors lifted an enormous heavy bolter decorated with what appeared to be fangs and pieces of animal pelt. The right pauldron of his otherwise black and silver power armour showed a snarling predator depicted on a yellow and blue background. With a deep booming sound the massive weapon fired a hail of mass-reactive shells into the ranks of the cultists reducing dozens of them to chunks of bloody meat and red mist. The remaining cultists scattered for cover and started returning fire with their auto guns. The three Astartes sprang into motion moving in a smooth defensive pattern, each covering the others blind spots. As the warrior with the Heavy Bolter continued laying down a devastating hail of fire, the third Astartes, bearing a blue pauldron with the Ultramarine Chapter Symbol, fired methodical, well aimed shots with his bolt gun, each shot exploding in a storm of razor sharp fragments shredding anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity. The overweight officer screamed profanities from behind the relative safety of a stack of iron crate and spurred his troops into a semblance of a counterattack. Dozens of rounds of solid shot ammo scored hits but were deflected harmlessly by the Marines thick ceramite armour. Within moments all that remained of the traitor PDF were corpses and body parts strewn around the warehouse. Many of the captive civilians had been killed or injured in the fire fight filling the warehouses with cries of agony and the stink of fear. The three Astartes paid the crying and pleading civilians no attention at all and spent a few moments in silent communication, their voxchannels clicking with activity before heading off at a trot.

Three squads of elite soldiers clad in black carapace armour moved from the rear ramp of a shuttle with well organised routine, their special issue hell guns sweeping to cover any possible enemies. The soldiers wore helmets fully obscuring their faces with dull red lenses and a bulky respirator. Much of their armour was covered with faintly inscribed silver texts and symbols of warding and each bore multiple purity seals inscribed with litanies praising the Emperor. In record time they spread out and secured the dusty square where the heavily armed imperial transport had landed. Several troopers started deploying advanced sentry turrets monitored by a red robed techpriest with ominous skull symbols decorating his armoured bulk. The troopers present snapped to attention as an imposing man walked down the ramp of the transport. Clad in bulky powered armour with elaborate golden and silver lining none could question his authority as he carried in his right hand a maul crackling with barely contained energy and sporting a prominent Inquisitorial Rosette. His face was old and scarred and what little hair he had left clung to the sides of his skull in disordered patches. His eyes however were a steel-grey and brooked no dissent or disobedience as they surveyed the area. One of the troopers made the Aquila sign and reported:"The perimeter is secured Lord Inquisitor, our forces are entering the theatre of operations as planned and are encountering light, unorganized resistance." The Inquisitor nodded "Proceed according to plan Captain, engage the enemy forces. Search and destroy protocol. Remember you are to draw their attention, not engage in a full-scale confrontation" The trooper saluted and quickly returned to his tasks.

**35 kilometres above Wagner Secundus, Geosynchronous orbit, bridge of the pirate flagship "Desecrator"**

Arch-Sultan Khalu-Ghari of the most exalted scourge of the unbelievers was not having a good day. His immense bulk was lodged in his command throne offering a commanding view of the bridge of the flagship of his pirate fleet. The ship itself was relatively young having been built only three centuries ago before being 'liberated' by Khalu-Ghari and his band of pirates. It was originally a lightly armed destroyer destined to patrol relatively quiet regions of space. The Arch-Sultan had made some modifications however. The ridiculous gothic ornamentation and statuary dedicated to the False Emperor had been removed and replaced with more aesthetically pleasing curves and spines. The ships voxsystem had been upgraded and connected to a central chamber where each day a fresh batch of captives were 'motivated' to produce the most glorious hymns to Slaanesh. The same tortured screams were also broadcast on all channels using a hideously overpowered, warp-fuelled voxcasting system. Great sections of the kilometre long ship had been repurposed to house powerful, overcharged lance weapons. The weapons were prone to overheat and suffered from horrid casualty rates amongst the gun crews but they packed a punch totally unexpected for a ship of the Desecrators size. Streams of sweat trickled down the obese Arch-Sultans face and flabby chest as his bridge crew shouted incoming reports from the planet's surface."Great Khalu-Ghari, the 14th enlightened Infantry reports enemy contact in the outskirts of Gamma Quadrant, moving to engage" a woman covered in tattoos and piercings reported. "Contact lost with squads 4, 9, and 12 of the 7th Enlightened Infantry" a nearly skeletal servitor droned. How could this be? The Arch-Sultan reviewed the hololithic display of Wagner Secundus surface. The majority of the planets PDF forces had sworn allegiance to Slaanesh effectively reducing the loyalist forces to only a handful of Arbites and security personnel. Yet for some reason the forces of chaos were being attacked in multiple locations and taking considerable losses."Helmsman move the ship closer to the planet and start a scan at maximum power" The Arch-Sultan rumbled, his bloodshot eyes squinting at the display of tactical data. A hunchbacked mutant moved along the workstations administering lashes with a cruelly barbed whip. The crew shrieked in delight or pain, it was hard to tell, and enacted the commands necessary to carry out the Arch-Sultans orders. The Desecrators engines flared and it moved closer to the planet, sensor arrays flaring with energy as it initiated a full power scan. Claxons sounded and warning messages suddenly blurted from dozens of terminals. Khalu-Ghari glanced around his deck in increasing anger and annoyance."What in the frekkin name of the four powers is going on? Report! You pathetic excuses for bags of flesh or I will personally feed your souls to the Dark Prince!" The crewman in charge of the servitors manning the sensor banks reported:"Exalted one, our sensors report multiple contacts inbound from the dark side of Wagner Secundus. Signature unclear as of yet but we are scanning the databanks to find a match. Distance 29.000 kilometres and closing." Khalu-Ghari's blood drained from his face. At that range they were nearly within effective range of most capital weapons."Alert the fleet, move the raiders in a defensive pattern and divert power to our forward lance batteries." All around the raider-captain crew sprang into motion, orders and firing solutions being sent to gun crews and the other pirate captains in the fleet. Six smaller but more agile raider vessels formed a tight defensive perimeter in front of the Desecrator, their sleek forms screaming through the void towards their enemy. "Exalted one, we have identified the contacts as 3 Falchion-class Frigates of unknown lineage and the Mars-class Battle cruiser 'Spear of Retribution' a servitor spoke with a monotonous voice adding technical details as its cogitators communicated with the Desecrators machine spirit."A Mars class Battle cruiser..." Khalu-Ghari whispered in dread. The bridge trembled slightly as if the ship itself realized the danger it was in. "All ships disperse formation! Helmsman fire lateral thrusters! Reroute all power from weapons to thrusters and void shields! Fire decoy torped..." The Arch-Sultan and commander of the pirate fleet never got the chance to finish his sentence. Within the five kilometres long hull of the Spear of Retribution a crew of hundreds of ratings and servitors finished the firing sequence of the massive nova cannon that spanned nearly a kilometre in length. Arcane accelerator coils powered and propelled a massive warhead to near light speed. A miniature sun blossomed into existence mere hundreds of kilometres off the Desecrators prow instantly vaporizing the ship into its constituent atoms. The escorting ships briefly flickered with straining void shields before being melted to formless blobs of metal and debris.

On the Spear of Retributions cathedral like bridge a group of senior officers stood at a respectable distance from their superior who was talking to a small blonde woman clad in a stunning red gown. Her eyes shone with both intelligence and amusement as she nodded politely at the navy officer more than twice her age who looked faintly like a dog eager to please his mistress."I am pleased Lord-Captain Mossberg with your efficiency in dispatching these raiders" she said her voice high and clear and very much in contrast with the grim surroundings. The Lord Captain positively beamed with the compliment, his hands folded behind his back and his stance nothing but noble and representative of a proud lineage of officers."I aim to serve my lady and her noble office in any manner required" Mossberg turned to his coterie of officers: "An extra ration of amasec for the Master of Cannons" The woman smiled politely."Prepare a shuttle for planet fall Lord-Captain, we should soon receive the exact coordinates." She strode across the bridge towards the soaring viewports offering an unobstructed view of the void outside. Hundreds of pieces of debris could still be seen as they bled heat and light into space, the shattered remnants of the pirate fleet. She absentmindedly traced a fingernail across her ring, a golden skull backed by a large ruby. "This had better not be a waste of my time" she muttered.


	9. Chapter 9 The Emperor Protects

Chapter 9 The Emperor Protects

The elevator shuddered to a halt, the three occupants tired but ready for anything: A towering, heavily armed servitor, a robed priest of the ecclesiarchy, and a young boy lugging around a lasgun. The reinforced plassteel doors slid open to reveal a scene from hell. The large control and command centre was littered with corpses, most of them in various states of dismemberment. Some people had been nailed to the wall with sharp pieces of metal and symbols dedicated to the ruinous powers were daubed on the walls in fresh blood. Flashes of lightning from the raging storm outside lit up the room through a large gothic, glass-in-lead viewport. Rows upon rows of cogitatorbanks and data terminals were bathed in shadow and the faint illumination of red emergency lights. Franciscus moved out of the elevator, his chainsword raised in a defensive posture, and carefully scanned the surroundings. A palpable air of death and suffering suffused the room. "The passage to the landing pads should be at the far end of this room, follow me and whatever you do: do not touch **anything** in here" Franciscus cautioned Shub as he picked his way past the pools of congealing blood. The boy stared at the scene in horror. Everywhere he turned the evidence of cruel and wanton murder was present. As the priest moved further ahead Shub noticed the slumped form of a uniformed man sagging in a chair. A shiver ran down Shubs spine as he looked at the dead man's eyes; wide open and staring at the ceiling. Something silver on the man's arm caught his attention and he paused to see what it was. A nagging sense of 'wrongness' about the corpse warned Shub. His mind registered the minute difference in the way the air flowed and the slight blur of the air mere moments before the very air in front of him warped and bent revealing the large demonic creature. As Shubs sight adjusted, the last remnants of the arcane glamour that had hidden the creature shattered. In a swift motion the creature lunged and caught Shubs hand in a crushing grip. The boy cried out in pain and both Franciscus and the servitor whirled around, aghast to find a warp entity clutching the terrified boy. The creature once known as Tannhauser smiled a feral smile as it eyed the priest and his servitor. "A deluded servant of the corpse-god and a flesh puppet, I wonder what brings you here?" The creature mused its voice feminine one moment and masculine the next. It tightened its grip on the child causing him to scream out in pain."You want the young one don't you?" It said softly with a honeyed tongue."What significance could such a little plaything have for you?" A daemonic claw tightened further snapping Shubs fingers and the bones in his hand. Shub howled in agony as the shards of broken bone severed veins in his hand and nerve-wracking pain shot up his arm. Even worse he could feel the insidious power of the warp trying to warp his body and whisper to his mind. Franciscus did not betray any of his thoughts as he faced the Daemon. He raised his gaze and spoke:"Upon the great golden gates of the most holy sanctum on Terra there is written 'consort not with the warp for it is weakness and corruption personified, condone not the heretic for they are the evil that would eat us from within, suffer not the daemon to live for they are the darkness surrounding our light'" his voice became stronger as he recited the ancient words. "In the name of he who sits on the Golden Throne I denounce you servant of Slaanesh, and sentence you to excruciating death and banishment back to the warp from whence you came." The slaaneshi Daemon giggled madly: "You priestly types are so amusing, I will enjoy feasting on your body and soul" It hurled Shub to the side where he hit the wall and slumped to the ground, unconscious. It bared wicked fangs, snarled, and charged at Franciscus. "Servitor, deliver justice" the priest intoned. As soon as the words had left Franciscus lips the servitors' built-in cogitators enacted the protocols linked to the voice-command. Sub –dermal dispensers injected a highly volatile cocktail of stimulants and aggressive short term bio enhancements. The effect was to literally allow the servitors remaining tissue and essential fluids to feed upon itself to provide a short burst of energy."In nomine Deus Imperator" the servitor droned, its muscles bulging and frame twitching with barely contained fury. It roared an inhuman cry through its vox-grille as if there was still some vestige left of the man it had once been, and charged.

Outside the battle raged on. The disciplined ranks of Imperial Storm troopers advanced in a defensive pattern laying down a withering hail of fire with their hell guns. The inquisitor leading them picked off targets one by one with an ornate plasma pistol, melting armour and flesh alike. Cultists fell in great swathes as they scrambled for cover. A pack of Daemonettes emerged and charged the right flank of the Storm trooper formation, dodging shots with unnatural agility. The first three Storm troopers died in seconds as they were ripped apart by claws and fangs. The inquisitor bellowed a challenge and sprang forward his maul blazing with a crackling blue power field. He ignored the first daemonette attack, taking a clawed strike on his gold trimmed power armour, and caved its face in with a devastating strike to the head. Warp spawned flesh and demonic bone sizzled and popped as the inquisitor struck down his opponents left and right. The lithe creatures shrieked and withered when they closed in on him, repulsed and burnt by the Holy Scripture on his armour and the many purity seals. The Storm troopers rallied around his position and resumed their slow but methodical advance.

Lady Eleanor Kyan of the Ordo Hereticus stood before the enormous armoured stained glass window dominating the bridge of _the Spear of Retribution_ with her hands clasped behind her back. She was clad in the full trappings of her office: An elegant suit of form-fitting dark red carapace armour decorated with a host of miniature golden skulls and a long black cloak covering her back reaching almost to the floor. Her long blonde hair was woven into a complex braid interlaced with psycho-active crystalline strands. She viewed the spectacle outside with no visible emotion, her blue eyes observing but not judging. Positioned behind her in a semi-circle were her elite bodyguards: seven women towering more than a head over her clad in resplendent silver ceramite armour adorned with crimson lining and scrolls of holy text. Their helmets bore black markings and red targeting lenses showing nothing of the person inside. They wielded a collection of weaponry, a heavy flamer fuelled by blessed promethium, an incredibly ancient melta cannon, and several well maintained heavy bolters. Each weapon looked in perfect condition with purity seals attached to barrels and sacred oils coating the magazines and canisters. The grim and silent Adepta Sororitas stood with weapons lowered but kept a careful watch of the bridge and any who would dare approach their sworn charge. Lady Kyan motioned for one of the Sisters of Battle to join her."It never ceases to amaze me to see the wrath of the Emperor unleashed on the heretic, Sister Celestian" The woman, a veteran of dozens of conflicts and the commander of the detachment assigned to safeguard the Inquisitor, merely nodded solemnly as she observed the spectacle outside. The _Spear of Retribution_ had manoeuvred into low orbit after destroying the remnants of the pirate fleet. Periodically a great flash lit up the hull and space surrounding the Battle Cruiser as its lance batteries fired beams of supercharged energy to the surface of Wagner Secundus; each beam powerful enough to level mountains and destroy entire cities. The capital ships artillery was targeting concentrations of heretic PDF troops and eradicating them like one would eradicate an infestation of insects. Each successful lance hit ended the lives of hundreds if not thousands of men and women as they and the area surrounding them were vaporized. Eleanor contemplated the forces in motion around the relatively unimportant planet and the overwhelming force being applied. Several ranking Inquisitor Lords had used all means and assets at their disposal to amass a powerful taskforce to mass in the Wagner system. Many favours had been called in, and when the Inquisition called, other organisations heeded that call. She had personally commandeered _the Spear of Retribution_ and her escort ships to bring her and her war band of Adepta Sororitas to Wagner Secundus with all speed. According to the reports filtering through from the surface the imperial taskforce should achieve control of the theatre of operations soon enough. Not very surprising: Cultists ,even though backed up by some demonic forces, were just no match for hand-picked inquisitorial storm troopers, a Death-watch Kill-team, and the personal retinues of no less than five ranking Inquisitors. She could not wait though to see the reason for this grand show of force. She whirled in place and commanded her retinue:"Sisters prepare my shuttle for landing. It is time we bought the God-Emperors justice to Wagner Secundus."

Two unnatural creatures met in a tremendous crash pitting imperial technology against warp fuelled strength. A flurry of strikes, almost too fast to register with the unaided eye, left a series of bruises and gashes on the servitor's body. It responded with a vicious hook with its mechanical claw which his opponent ducked easily. The Daemon stepped forward diagonally and tore open the servitors back sending sparks and dark blue liquid flying from the horrible wound. Paying no attention to the gash that would have easily incapacitated a normal human the servitor swung back and clipped the Daemon with his elbow soliciting a grunt and causing it to stumble back a few steps. Raising its weaponized arm the servitor aimed as the powerful pulse laser charged.

A fusillade of high energy laser bolts emitted from the servitors weapon producing a shrieking sound. The Daemon however had already twisted aside with unnatural speed leaving the bolts to hit the large armoured viewport behind them. The tremendous energy, released upon impact, left a web of hairline fractures in the thick reinforced glass. Franciscus used the distraction to swing his roaring chain sword in a powerful horizontal strike hitting the Daemon in the back and tearing off chunks of warp-flesh. It roared and backhanded the priest sending him flying backwards. The servitor responded by lunging forward with a vicious attack with his mechanical claw managing only to hit the Daemons' upper arm. Ignoring the servo-powered claw now clamped on his arm the creature punched his other clawed fist into the joint connecting the pulse laser to the servitors pale flesh.

The Daemon grinned broadly at the bruised and battered priest as he tore off the servitor's lower arm with a claw shimmering with vile warp energy. "Your flesh puppet is done for. How unfortunate." Franciscus shook his head to clear his vision and squinted at his foe, getting to his feet with some difficulty"You talk too much warp spawn" Snarling the creature tossed the servitors wrecked arm to the ground."I am going to tear you apart one digit at a time wretched slave!" It spat.

Servitor 44D-I76 was in the last moments of its active duty to the Omnissiah. Its internal systems were about to shut down due to massive damage and the effects of the combat drugs raging through its veins and gears. Logic engines processed data and tactical options and finally saw one last chance at success. The servitor kept his grip on the daemon, pistons straining to lock the claw firmly in place on its upper arm. Trailing liquids from the shattered arm that once housed its laser weapon it ran with all the speed and power of a 300 kg enraged combat servitor and hurled itself against the weakened armoured glass of the viewport. With an enormous crash the ornamental glass shattered sending both the servitor and the Daemon hurtling towards their doom. Gale force winds roared through the shattered window nearly blotting out the sounds of alarms and Shubs laboured breathing.

Franciscus stood still for a moment, shrugged and moved to check on the boy. Alarms still rang and the room reeked of chemicals.

Shub looked up at the man and reached out his hand pleadingly, droplets of blood dripping from his mangled fingers and pooling on the floor."Please, help me" He groaned with the effort of not screaming and cold sweat ran down his neck and back. A nasty throbbing sensation suffused his injured hand and arm and veins of purple could be seen making their way up his wrist towards his elbow.

The man stared at the wounded boy for a moment and swung his chainsword in a powerful downward arc severing Shubs hand at the wrist. "The Emperor provides what you need, not necessarily what you want" he intoned grimly.

As the man closed on Shub the boy gazed in shock at the rhythmic streams of blood jetting from his wrist before passing out.


	10. Chapter 10 I Hallowed Halls

**After the introduction, a prelude really, of some of the characters in this piece of fan-fiction, the story continues or rather actually begins, with the protagonists 'early years' Thanks for all the PM's , followers, and reviews: they are greatly encouraging and motivate me to continue work on this story. A special hello to Savage Thruster whom I actually encountered in a totally different setting and who recognized my username :D *waves* If you have any questions, suggestions, or requests: send me a message or post a review and I will look into it. In case people are wondering: English is not my native tongue so forgive any archaic use of words or strange proverbs **

**For the following chapters expect violence, much smashing of face and limbs, and the occasional occurrence of strange and exotic dangers. But not before a whole lot of administrative non-sense. **

**When finished reading you will obviously be mind-scrubbed and sent to serve in a penal legion. Or rebuilt as a servitor serving drinks at the local Tech-priest bar.**

**Hallowed halls**

**Segmentum Ultima, Ultramar, Espandor System, Emeriss moon**

Ultramar: beacon of order and law in the vast war-torn expanse of Imperial Space. Although greatly lessened compared to its days before the Great Heresy it still stood as an exemplar of military power and prosperity through adherence to the ideals of the Empire of Man. Its nine systems all beholden to the ruler of Macragge it housed countless billions of imperial citizens, hundreds of well-trained regiments of soldiers, and of course the might of the Ultramarines Chapter and some of its successor chapters. Emeriss was one of the smaller planets in the Espandor system, a verdant planet with a geography that seemed oversized in all aspects: enormous mountain ranges, ancient forests where millennia old giants shielded shadowy forest floors with their mighty branches, tempestuous seas, and rolling grassy plains that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. Even the sparse fauna seemed exaggerated: towering ursine creatures over three times the height of a man, majestic predatory birds and gargantuan aquatic mammals. It has been said that the XVIII Legion sent its recruits here to test their prowess against some of the largest predators but no living soul on Emeriss had ever witnessed such an event.

Sheltered in a valley and located next to a crystal blue river that slowly meandered its way past meadows and woods was the Schola Progenium. Although it bore a formal name in High Gothic it had been known to the citizens of Ultramar as The Academy for generations. Many famous and illustrious careers had started in the Academy and only the very best eligible orphans found their way to its hallowed halls. The ancient Imperial institution was housed in a sprawling complex of fortified monasteries, cathedrals and underground bunkers. Unlike most Imperial structures it blended into the natural surroundings, its thick moss-covered walls often seeming to flow directly into the grassy hills. Proud banners depicting the symbols of Ultramar and the Imperial Aquila flew in the warm breeze as the thousands of servants, academy staff, and students went about their business.

In one of the many wings of the complex a highly secure medical facility tended to the needs of the students and staff. Currently a security detail of black armoured storm troopers stood at attention while a bearded man clad in a brown robe whispered to one of the medicae staff. The man finished his conversation and made the sign of the Aquila before departing, followed by his retinue. The medicae, a woman in her forties sighed and went back to check the data on a display attached to a massive glass-steel cylinder.

**Solitary confinement unit MB-01, Medical Wing Ultramar Academy 2 weeks later**

Shub scratched at his artificial hand for the 322nd time that morning. It was hard to get used to the sensation of… absence. He constantly felt as if his lower arm and hand were still there, even itching, but when he looked all he saw was a dull grey bionic replacement. He flexed his muscles or rather thought about flexing them and the metal digits opened and closed as ordered. It would take some time to get rid of the delay he had been told by the Medicae and attending Tech-priest but eventually the prosthetic would function as well if not better than a real limb. For now it was uncomfortable and added to the increasing list of things to make his day miserable.

Tomorrow would be his first day as a student in class 412-B of the Academy. Apparently people in high places had pulled strings to enrol him despite his obvious shortcomings compared to the elite of Ultramar he would be joining. He had neither a noble heritage nor a family of dedicated servants to the Emperor to boast off. In fact Shub felt decidedly out of place in the Spartan, clean surroundings. The ordeal of Manufactorum Gamma and the confrontation with a Daemon seemed a thing from the distant past mostly featuring in his nightmares. Flashes of violence and strange deformed creatures stalked him in his dreams and often he awoke screaming the name of his dead friend Gor. He had only regained consciousness a few times after leaving Wagner and several times Franciscus had been at his side explaining why he had cut off Shubs arm. He recalled hearing of the taint of the warp and being lucky to be alive but had soon sunk back in a deep, dreamless sleep.

The data slate he had been handed was filled with rosters and schedules detailing his required presence in the various rooms, halls, and courtyards of the Academy. Prayers in the Cathedral at 06.00 would start off the day followed by lectures on the Theological nature of the Imperial organisation and analysis of the many virtues of the Eclessiarchy. The rest of the day would be filled with 'Basic combat training' With the number of classes he was required to attend tomorrow he would barely have time to meet his fellow students. Getting the chance to meet others was something Shub was looking forward to after what seemed like an eternity in the secured confines of the medical wing.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Franciscus since the journey from Wagner Secundus. He hadn't seen many people at all in fact. He had mainly been tended to by the female Medicae Alicia and her assistants in the secluded medical wing. Shub paced around his Spartan room slowly, taking care not to lose his balance. Devotional prayers droned from a built-in vox system extolling the many virtues of the Imperial Faith and the supremacy of mankind. He winced for a moment, the newly mended bones in his body still painful and sat down carefully to rest.

Recovery was a slow process; Shubs body had been malnourished, dehydrated, and bruised and battered when he was recovered from Wagner Secundus, not to mention his lower arm having been severed by a chain sword. A full month of being submerged in a medical tank had also wrought havoc on his musculature and balance despite extensive electro-stimulants and hormone treatments. The greatest change had taken place in his mind however: his gift, once sporadic and unreliable had grown, matured, even. His memory had always been good but he now found that he could recall minute details from events years back. Even stranger: from only a few pieces of data he could deduce vast amounts of information. With every piece of the puzzle added Shub found there were more question marks and more unexplainable events. Why had they rescued him from the Manufactorum? Where did his powers come from? What was his purpose here? Why did he have recollection of so many strange things in his mind? As If on cue little bits of knowledge flashed from his subconscious to his attention:

_The Ork body, although simian in appearance is in fact more akin to a sentient fungal growth. Its main weakness is localized in dense masses of nerve fibre located in neck and thigh. Records have shown that a mature Ork specimen can survive for several minutes without its head..._

_Primary cogitator function in class IV Lath-class combat servitors is optimized at a core temperature of 08.12 degrees…_

_Decisive in compliance of the Purgatory system was the use of the 405__th__ Krieg engineer Regiment utilizing Atomic charges to disrupt the tectonic plate on which the central Heretic Hive was located…_

_Firing of the honoured Basilisk Machine shall not commence without applying the proper incense and reciting the Litany of Death from Afar and the Litany of Hatred..._

Shub sat on the edge of his sleeping mat with his head in his hands. His life had always been about surviving, coping with hardship and suffering. He had never had the opportunity to choose his own path. Now he found himself, once again, forced into a position he did not choose. He shook his head trying to clear his mind. Tomorrow, after two weeks of isolation, his training at the Academy would commence and he was determined to make the most of it. Sighing deeply Shub got to his feet and started a series of slowly performed exercises meant to strengthen his muscles and improve his coordination. Had a knowledgeable observer been at hand he would have been surprised to see a 12 year old boy moving through the blocks and thrusts of the 7th set of Mordian Infantry Close Combat Doctrine.

**Ultramar Academy, Grand Master Osirian's office**

Franciscus leaned back in the comfortable chair and sipped his amasec, a rare and expensive vintage from one of the agri-worlds of Ultramar. The spacious office around him was panelled with exotic wood and richly decorated with tapestries and oil paintings of the Academies illustrious Grand Masters. A large fireplace sat beneath a prominent Metal Aquila stretching over 2 metres. A female servant, one of the older students, clad in an impeccable uniform stood at a respectful distance bearing a silver tray with refreshments. Several scribes and administrative aids could be heard conversing in hushed tones in the adjacent room, sorting reports and stacks of documents detailing the daily proceedings of the Schola Progenium. Seated in the chair opposite to him was a man who looked to be 70 years of age with proud patrician features and thinning blonde hair. Observant green eyes and facial features that resembled a carved piece of basalt made it clear that Grand Master Osirian was an important person. The grandmasters voluminous robes bore many badges and laurels denoting his exalted academic position and was completed by several rings crafted from precious metals and set with a multitude of gems. Despite all the trappings of power and status, Grand Master Osirian, 5th in his line to be head of the vaunted Academy of Ultramar was scared. Very scared. Receiving visitors from the Inquisition was not a regular occurrence especially one bearing the authentication Lord Franciscus had shown when he arrived.

"I assure you my Lord, the academy will tend to your young protégée with the utmost care and attention. We have a record of the finest academic achievement and the best tutors in the Segmentum." Osirian said, nervously sipping his drink.

"Your assurances are neither required nor necessary Grand Master. I trust you to enact the will of my office to the best of your ability." Franciscus paused for a moment to absentmindedly rub the inquisitorial seal on his ring. "Young Shub will be offered the same curriculum and testing as the rest of your students and will be spared effort nor ordeal. It must be clear however that no permanent harm may come to him for any reason at all." "His presence here and…affiliation with my organisation is to remain secret. You are the only one to know of his link with the Ordo. Any breach of these terms will result in drawing the full interest of my order and the associated investigations of the people responsible." Franciscus looked Osirian in the eye. "You, Grand Master, are ultimately responsible for the Academy. Do not fail the Inquisition." Franciscus drained his glass of the remaining amasec with one gulp and got up. Osirian and the aide carrying the silver platter quickly moved to bow. With a swift gesture Franciscus waved his hand at the girl who was trying to both gracefully bow and balance a tray simultaneously. An intense flash of red shot from his hand to the girls head and seared a neat hole in her skull. The stench of burnt hair and skin permeated the room as the girl slumped to the plush carpet, tray and glasswork smashing to pieces and scattering crystal fragments. "The Emperor protects, Grand Master" Fransiscus intoned as he left the office.

**A dusty courtyard somewhere in the Academy grounds **

Drill-Abbot Shagtan was a giant of a dark-skinned man towering over his students with a two metre tall body criss-crossed with scars both old and new. He had a bald head, dark brown eyes that showed little emotion and a jawline reminiscent of an Ork. Only his face betrayed his age with the teeth of time etching out an ever increasing pattern of lines and grooves. Thick corded muscle and almost no body fat; Shagtan looked more like an escaped pit-fighter than an instructor of a group of children. Yet that was exactly what he was. Rumour was that he was an ex storm trooper and veteran of many wars. Others placed him as a former bodyguard of a planetary governor. Shagtar himself did not stoop to answer the many questions about his past. Most often he communicated with the students of the Schola Progenium through his favoured medium: controlled violence. His method of tuition was based on a few simple principles: in order to build one must first be broken down. It pays to be a winner. And finally and most importantly: Until the moment a student could beat him they had no rights whatsoever.

Shagtar had been the nemesis of students at the Schola for decades and the list of injuries caused by his brutal daily training was the source of many wagers. Despite his violence and harsh treatment of students he was greatly respected by the Schola senior staff.

The afternoon sun glared in the sky bathing the dusty courtyard in sweltering heat. The sand had the colour of old blood and retained the heat, causing the temperature to rise even further. Great pillars of dark stone bordered the area and provided areas of shade. Several corridors led from the courtyard deeper into the massive complex. Drill-Abbot Shagtar stood in the middle of a circle drawn in the sand. Facing him, lined up in a neat row were the children of class 412-B. The youngest being twelve years of age and the oldest nineteen. Shub stood between a tall lanky 14 year old boy named Alek and a 13 year old boy whom everybody called Stubs for his short, rather rotund posture. Compared to the other boys Shub looked like a stray dog: short messy hair, still thin and covered from head to toe with bruises and scars. His augmetic lower arm and hand were painfully hot and sent a dull aching pain shooting up his arm and shoulder. He squinted against the bright sun, his grey eyes studying the Drill-Abbot and the courtyard. Its nickname was the Proving Grounds and it was the place where young students started their real training.

The Schola Progenium worked according to ancient Munitorum rules and guidelines so complex and convoluted that an entire section of the library was dedicated to housing its many dusty tomes. Each child taken into the academy faced a year of testing and scrutiny before proceeding to the rest of their education. Those judged to weak or morally unfit were sent off never to be seen again while those that passed the rigorous testing and questioning were placed in one of several classes. With the different ages entering the classes this could lead to severe imbalance in some cases but every student was expected to perform to the same exacting standard demanded by instructors.

"Fear leads to weakness, weakness leads to doubt, doubt leads to heresy" Shagtar intoned with his surprisingly soft voice. He eyed the line of children trying to stand straight and face his gaze without flinching. His eyes stopped at the trembling form of Stubs."You, into the ring" The boy hesitated for a moment and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Seeing the Drill-Abbots facial expression he quickly stepped forward into the ring drawn into the sand. Stubs eyed the imposing figure anxiously trying not to show his fear too much. "The rules are simple: no weapons allowed, you only stop when I tell you too, there can only be one winner." The boys all nodded. "Now little one, try to kill me" Shagtar said. Everyone giggled including Stubs until they noticed the expression on Shagtars face. The fat boy swallowed audibly. "You have 'till the count of three to try and kill me before I come for you" The Drill-Abbot said stretching his arms and loosening the muscles and tendons in his neck and back.

"One" Stubs looked around nervously and moved forward cautiously, his little fists raised. "Two" The boy looked around helplessly for any form of assistance. In a sudden explosion of movement the giant of a man sprang forward and struck out with his left fist hitting the boy on the right side of his jaw. With an audible shattering sound the boy was propelled through the air to land on his back a few metres outside of the circle. Neither he nor the rest of the boys moved as Shagtar stood straight and brushed some flecks of blood off his fist. "Last rule: trust no one once you are in the ring, especially me" "You" He pointed at another boy.

In several minutes the Drill-Abbot had knocked out, incapacitated or injured most of the class. A few of the older ones had tried a few swings or kicks but no one had actually managed to land a hit. The class was lined up being tended to by several medicae. Shagtar was barely breathing hard when he pointed at Shub. "You" The boy stepped into the ring calmly despite the carnage he had seen being wrought on the other children. His pulse slowed and time seemed to crawl forward, a sign of his extraordinary mind working. From the previous bouts of sparring his mind had learnt much of Shagtars style of fighting. It was an adaptation of the close combat techniques used by the Cadian armed forces; fast and deadly with a preference for powerful strikes and kicks. It left little room for error. Subconsciously Shub dropped into a loose fighting stance with his legs slightly bent at the knee and feet at shoulder width. His hands moved into a loose open palmed guarding position. The Drill-Abbot raised a bushy eyebrow and flexed his muscles. "Looks like there's some fight in this one"

With a grin he moved forward, feinting a left jab before delivering a devastating right hook. Shub instinctively moved closer to the man, ducking beneath the hook and slapping his open hand with as much strength as he could muster against the extended arm of Shagtar causing him to slightly loose his balance. Thrusting upward Shub focussed all the power and ferocity he had into a vicious strike into Shagtars armpit, one of the few places in the human body where muscle and bone do not shield a point where nerves converge. The Drill-Abbots arm immediately went limp as the excruciatingly painful strike to his Plexus Brachialis shut down motoric function in the limb. Shub followed up by a series of fast strikes to the kidneys and abdomen intending to weaken his opponent. His unnatural inherent ability to fight did not compensate for the difference in raw power however. Shagtar ignored the strikes that would have felled an average opponent and instead rammed his knee into Shub. The boy attempted a quick double handed block but had no chance to stop the massive knee crashing into his chest. He blacked out only to regain consciousness on his back in the sand with the Drill-Abbot towering over him. "Where did a kid like you pick up Catachan close combat techniques?" Shub tried to answer but could only manage a wheezing cough. "Never mind, if you think being trained by a guardsman is going to help you in here you are sorely mistaken." Shagtar gestured and a few of the less severely injured children helped Shub back to his feet.

"Now it is time to start your training, form up in pairs!" the Drill-Abbot thundered and everyone quickly scattered to do his bidding. The rest of the day was spent in gruelling training and physical exercise. Although Shub still had some trouble breathing from the hit he took to the chest he quickly fell into the rhythm of punching, kicking and blocking. Despite being the youngest in his class it was clear from the start his technique and ability to read his opponents made him one of the more effective fighters. The other top fighter was Namuth Eginias, last surviving member of a famous family of Imperial Navy Officers. He had lost his family when their home planet had been raided by Xenos. The Eldar had butchered many and taken captive even more. By some miracle Namuth survived the ordeal locked in a cellar. He had been found and sent to the Schola Progenium at the age of six and had spent most of his youth in the institution. Namuth and Shub were enemies from the moment they first laid eyes on each other. The noble born Namuth despised Shubs lack of etiquette and his coarse mannerisms, Shub resented the other boy's arrogant behaviour and sense of superiority. It was with some anxiety then that the two faced each other in the last of the days sparring sessions.

Namuth was clearly larger and stronger. With his 14 years he had the benefit of a more developed musculature and a larger reach. His style of fighting was centred on quickly closing with his opponent, distracting with fast blows to the head or other vulnerable areas and finishing him by establishing a choke hold or dislocating limbs. He had already sent three others to the Medical wing with various injuries and looked eager to take on Shub. Shub on the other hand did not look very dangerous but his class knew differently after seeing him in action with the Drill-Abbot. His stance and style varied with each opponent, his techniques seemingly following his motion as if they were a natural extension of his body.

The two faced each other in the hot sand of the proving grounds. In the background grunts and cries of pain could be heard as the rest of their class trained and went through the motions of sparring. Both were tired from several hours of hard physical exercise but determined to prove something to the other. Five of the boys who always followed Namuth around the Academy stood nearby eager to see the fight. "You might be here but you are not one us offworlder" Namuth spat as he slowly circled around Shub. "I do not know who was bribed or who messed up but the Academy is no place for lowborn Off world scum like you. I am going to put you in your place and smash you into the dirt where you belong" Some of the bystanders laughed and jeered at Shub who stood in a relaxed position with his arms next to his torso, slightly bent at the elbow. He shrugged: "Noble birth or social status won't help you in battle Namuth. Being angry will only distract you and make it easier for your opponent." With a snarl Namuth sprang forward launching a punches and kicks at Shub. Stepping left and right Shub dodged most of the attacks and blocked those that came too close. The older boy wasn't holding back and it took some effort to deflect his attacks. Shubs breath quickened and he focussed his concentration. _Left left right, kick, kick, left left right, kick._ After a minute, which felt like an eternity Shub saw the pattern in his opponents attacks. Embedded between feints and lunges was a basic pattern in the older boy's attacks. Shub shifted his stance slightly turning his left side towards Namuth. He dodged one powerful left hook, then leant backwards to avoid a left handed jab that would have shattered his nose. He swayed ever so slightly to his left inviting the right handed attack he knew would come. Sure enough Namuth, looking to capitalize on his opponent's mistake, put all his anger into a crushing right handed hook aimed at Shubs head. Shub lunged forward to get within the arc of the strike blocked the extended forearm with his left hand and rammed his augmetic right hand into Namuths upper arm taking away most of the power behind the hook. Using his momentum he twisted and turned around using the weight of his body to lead his left elbow. The point of Shubs elbow hit Namuth in the stomach causing him to double over in pain. A right uppercut landed firmly on the older boys chin and sent him sprawling to the ground. Shubs breath came in laboured gulps as sweat poured down his body. The entire fight had taken just over a minute but had exhausted him. "Well fought Namuth but like I said you are too angry to fight well. Maybe that's the lesson you will learn from today" Shub grinned and turned to walk away only to walk right into a fist aimed at his face by Siphir one of Namuths cronies. The unexpected attack caught him right on the jaw and dropped him to the sand like a ragdoll. The others rushed in and savagely kicked him in the stomach and side as Namuth slowly got to his feet. A trickle of blood from a small cut on his chin ran down his neck mingling with the sweat and sand.

"Enough" The Drill-Abbots command cut through all the noise and immediately everyone stopped what they were doing. "Perhaps the lesson you have learned today young Shub is that there is strength in numbers." Shagtar glared at both Shub and Namuth. "Your hatred is a tool, use it well and in service to the God-Emperor but remember in here I decide about life and death." He turned to view the rest of the class. "Go and cleanse your selves. Those that can't walk will be brought to the Medicae. I expect you here again tomorrow at noon." The class, including Shub who had managed to climb to his feet, bowed deeply "As you command Drill-Abbot" they intoned in unison. As they marched back into the complex to get cleaned up Shub couldn't help but notice Namuths deadly glare.


	11. Chapter 11 II Just as planned

**Segmentum Tempestus, Nascaris System, Nascaris Prime, 120 kilometres south of Vexilla Nascaria**

The creature stood motionless in its massive suit of baroque armour. Thick slabs of ceramite plating were decorated with golden engravings and sigils of power. Wicked spikes of cartilage pierced though the massive pauldrons impaling a grisly collection of skull-trophies. Brightly coloured tubes emerged from the mechanized collar and embedded themselves painfully in the creature's neck and throat. The absence of a helmet revealed a hideously scarred orb of flesh only vaguely reminiscent of a head. Two baleful orbs of crimson hate stood above a fang filled mouth and vestigial nostrils. One of its arms terminated in an oversized mechanical fist crackling with wisps and currents of power. Its other hand held a large, ornate, double barrelled bolt weapon fashioned in the semblance of a pair of snarling reptiles. The armour was ancient, bearing scars from the battle on Terra itself and its wearer had not left its arcane confinement in thousands of years.

Lord Ardrecht surveyed the field of battle in silence. With his three metres he towered over his personal guard of seven Traitor Space Marines. Each of them a veteran of centuries of bloody conflict and clad in Power armour the colour of old scabs and dried blood. Although each was massive in his bulky armour they were dwarfed by their lord and commander in his ancient suit of Terminator Armour crafted by an amalgamation of technology and sorcery on a distant demon world. In the valley ahead a fierce battle raged over a front spanning several kilometres. Squadrons of Leman Russ Battle tanks belched smoke as they manoeuvred into firing position or swerved to avoid incoming fire. A series of trenches and bunkers with overlapping arcs of fire prevented access to the area beyond: Vexilla Nascaris, a teeming industrial complex housing hundreds of thousands of imperial citizens and responsible for nearly 20% of the planets Tithe. In the far distance his enhanced senses could detect the flashes and thundering booms of Basilisk artillery firing deadly salvos of earth shaker shells. A vast horde of screaming cultists hurled themselves at the defensive lines of the 51st Targen Rifle Regiment accomplishing little more than an accelerated messy death as they were cut down in droves by massed heavy bolter fire from the bunkers and pillboxes. Several times the horde closed the distance to the defensive lines to within a hundred metres only to be decimated by volley after volley of concerted lasfire. The battlefield was slick with blood and corpses and filled with the screams of the dead and dying. The forces of chaos were being slaughtered.

Aldrecht chuckled, a predatory rumbling sound carrying no mirth at all. A hideous fusion of man and machine, power-armoured with his face hidden by a large hooded robe, approached trailing a forest of twitching mechadendrites. "My Lord, our cultist forces are being depleted at the projected rate. They are estimated to last another 32 minutes if…sufficiently.. Motivated. Chances of breaching the Imperial line: 0.045%" The massive Chaos Lord dismissed the Heretek and turned to one of his guards. "The barges are in position to start their assault on the lunar facility. The fools have committed the bulk of their defensive forces here." His maw widened in the semblance of a feral grin. "Let us make sure that they are kept busy here while we move towards the true prize. Release the World Eaters!"

Three great Thunderhawk gunships, coloured in a scintillating array of gold, silver and purple swooped over the hillside where Ardrecht stood. Scores of emerald and ruby coloured eyes dotted the once noble ships hulls and fuselage, blinking and surveying the surrounding area with their unnatural gaze. As the ships passed the sound of hundreds of ghostly voices could be heard wailing in agony. A squadron of nine smaller Hell talon fighters darted in front of the slower more heavily armed ships swooping left and right as their entombed servitor pilots scanned for targets. Clamped beneath the Corrupted Thunderhawks were huge spherical objects seemingly forged out of bands of dull iron. Each ship carried two of them for a total of six, clamped in the dorsal cargo hold where normally Landraiders or other heavy armour would be carried. As the aerial strike force neared the Imperial line anti-aircraft fire opened up dotting the sky with black clouds as Hydra Flak-tanks unleashed thousands of shells. Two of the Hell talon fighters went up in balls of fire as razor-sharp fragments tore through wings and engines. The remaining fighters returned fire with their quad auto cannons peppering the imperial lines with solid shells that burst through flesh and easily ripped through light armour. The three Thunderhawks came in fast and low laying down a withering hail of fire with their heavy bolters and lascannons. At the last instant, just before they would pass the Imperial line of defence, the three craft banked as one, executing a sharp turn to the right. With a loud click and the hiss of pistons the large spherical objects detached hurtling towards the ground like massive cannonballs. Each globe, measuring over 5 metres in diameter, crashed into the ground smashing guardsmen to a bloody pulp and continued to roll onwards carried by their momentum. After a few seconds great serrated blades emerged from the Spheres surface maiming entire squads that were unable to move out of its path fast enough. Additionally the blades found purchase in the ground and trenches slowing the Spheres pace. Ten seconds after being dropped the six spheres came to a halt right in the middle of the Imperial line of defence. Surrounding platoons rushed to restore some semblance of order to the line as hundreds of their fellow soldiers lay dead or dying around them. Wisps of smoke rose from the pitted iron exterior of the spheres, by now covered in blood and gore. A nearby commissar led a squad of Guardsmen to one of the spheres, bolt-pistol drawn and black cloak fluttering in the wind. His stern gaze promised only death for the enemies of the Imperium and any that would fail to support it to the best of their ability. With a loud clanking sound the sphere opened releasing clouds of smoke. The guardsmen around the object raised their lasguns, looking to their commissar for orders.

A primal scream of rage, distorted by mechanical interference resounded and several giants emerged from the Sphere. Their ornate power armour was coloured blood-red and trimmed with gold and skulls. Runes of brass covered breastplates and pauldrons worn and scarred with age. Each of the warriors wielded an enormous Chain-axe, easily the size of a grown man. The Commissar fired his Bolt Pistol at the Astartes and screamed at the top of his lungs "FOR THE EMPEROR! Death to the Heretics!" Like ravenous predators, unleashed to feed at last, the bloodthirsty berserkers rushed forward ignoring the impact of bolt rounds and lasfire that simply ricocheted off their armour. The lead Berserker cleft the commissar in two with one mighty strike of his chain axe, blood and gore spraying all around. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOODGOD!" it screamed and charged into the first group of guardsmen it saw.

All around the defensive line the scene was similar: Great Spheres opened to disgorge frothing, frenzied Khornate berserkers. Roused from their chemically induced slumber and injected with a volatile mix of stimulants the former Astartes killed without strategy or cunning. Hundreds of soldiers of the Targen 51st Rifle regiment died in the first minutes of the engagement, hacked to pieces or simply crushed by power-armoured gloves or boots. But after the first shock had worn off the regiment regrouped, Officers shouting commands through vox-casters, squads and platoons retreating and making use of covering fire. The first World Eater died when a lascannon hit him in the chest, vaporizing the thick ceramite breastplate and burning a large hole right through. The next two were blown to pieces when a Leman Russ Battle Tank fired its massive cannon at close range. The battle line reformed with armoured reserves moving to the front. The band of World Eaters reaped a bloody toll, taking down ten, sometimes twenty opponents before succumbing to massed heavy weapons fire but one by one the gene enhanced killers died surrounded by heaps of limbs, ruined corpses and streams of blood. Even as they died they shouted hoarse tribute to Khorne while choking on their own blood. The Targen 51st had taken a bloody beating but stood their ground, the full might of the Emperors guard unleashed at their opponents. Within half an hour the last of the Berserkers had been killed leaving the Targen guardsmen to reform their line and resume their defence against the cultist infantry rushing towards them once again.

**Segmentum Tempestus, Nascaris System, NP-94X-iii primary moon of Nascaris**

With a flash of energy, a thunderclap and the sound of rushing air Chaos Lord Aldrecht and his elite guard teleported into the heart of the Adeptus Mechanicum facility located on the primary moon of Nascaris. Immediately the Chaos veterans moved into a defensive formation, covering all angles of approach to their lord. The whine and hiss of beam weapons resounded through the complex mixed with the harsh bark of Bolt guns. Squads of Chaos Space marines swept the area methodically eliminating the last pockets of resistance. The tiled floor was cracked and covered in stains; blood and some form of liquid artificial cooling agent. The great dome covering the Mechanicum research facility was still intact, no surprise since its meter thick armoured glass was designed to withstand small scale meteoric impact.

The lumbering Chaos Lord moved towards the centre of the complex in great steps that shook the surroundings and left hairline fractures in the floor. Despite the enormous weight of the suit of Tactical Dreadnought Armour he moved as swiftly and with as much confidence as if taking a casual stroll. As he moved closer to his destination the signs of recent battle became more pronounced; scorch marks, the shattered bodies of combat-servitors and automated gun-turrets and even the occasional corpse of one of the Chaos Space Marines of his war band. Aldrecht cared not for the death of his followers. They served only to work towards his own success and ascendance in the eyes of his master; the Architect of Fate. He had casually discarded the lives of the band of World Eaters just to tie up the imperial defenders on planet "Blind homicidal idiots, they are only fit to die to further my own designs" he muttered wrenching aside a plas-steel door with his Power-fist. The gullible Berserkers were easily duped and manipulated into serving him as long as there was promise of bloodshed.

The chamber he entered was huge and filled with a dazzling array of machines and technology. A raised dais was surrounded by projectors generating a softly humming stasis field. Kept aloft by ancient grav-technology was an eight metre tall ovoid object resembling an oversized leathery egg. In a circle around the object lay the last line of Mechanicum defenders, heavily augmented Magos Biologis, slain as they attempted to defend their work.

Aldrecht gazed at the object and a halo of gold and grey flame wreathed his hulking form as he extended his senses beyond his physical form. "Excellent, the specimen is in prime condition. My lord will be most pleased" He turned to his guard: "Prepare to move the pod to our barge and take care to keep the stasis-field intact." His crimson eyes gleamed with malice." Set course for Ultramar"

**Segmentum Ultima, Espandor system, Ultramar Academy located on Emeris, secondary moon of Espandor**

Shub winced as Mistress Selma smacked him on the back of the head as she passed between the rows of Schola Progenium students sitting at their desks. Her aged and wrinkled face was set in a frown as she patrolled the classroom in her grey rather shapeless uniform. The subject of the day was Imperial Iconography and as usual Shub had been bored with identifying the proper sigils belonging to the Adeptus Administratums 4th tier of administrative sanctions. His data slate was filled with drawings, schematics and formulae, none of them even remotely related to the subject he was supposed to be studying. "Shub, three extra shifts of sanitary cleaning duty" Mistress Selma said in a tired voice. "For the love of the Emperor boy, I will get you to pay attention to class before your time here is up" Shub sneaked a glance around the classroom, a spacious stone hall lined with elaborately engraved stone pillars soaring upward to disappear in the smoke filled air. Diagonally in front of him sat Kelvin, a friendly youth of 15 who could have been a poster boy for Imperial Guard recruitment _"Enlist with the Guard, travel the galaxy, meet interesting people, and kill them" _Kelvins view of life was simple: Serve the Emperor, deliver his will and all will be well. The blonde boy turned around and met Shubs gaze and rolled his eyes theatrically. His simple view of life did not prevent him from having a wicked sense of humour and he had quickly become one of Shubs closest friends at the Academy. Shub mentally added the three extra days of cleaning toilets to his already impressive tally and concluded that he would be scraping faeces and urine for the next seven months if he kept up his current rate. He sighed and tabbed the rune of deletion on his data-slate and tried to focus on the numerals in High Gothic denoting the myriad branches of Imperial bureaucracy.

He had been at the Academy for just over half a year now and had settled in nicely. He had made friends and enemies but most importantly Shub had learned how the Academy worked. Displaying an almost freakish ability to absorb, retain and correlate information had made the academic part of the curriculum a walk in the proverbial park. Most of his effort was spent trying to convince the tutors he was working and studying hard when, in fact, his mind often wandered to other subjects. The long hours delving in musty tomes, studying charts and lists and reciting Imperial Doctrine were spent waiting eagerly for the section of the curriculum Shub looked forward to: combat.

It was in the dusty proving grounds, the weapons ranges, and in the halls were they were taught the Tactica Imperialis that Shub felt he was truly alive. His marksmanship, ferocity in close combat, and mastery of complex strategy had placed Shub at the very top of the Academies students. Some whispered that he might even reach the same level as some of the Academies infamous alumni who had graduated to become Admirals, Storm troopers, Commissars and even Adepts of the Officio Assasinorum. His achievements were, however undermined by a serious problem with authority. Having come from a background of forced labour and the constant threat of violence Shub had a lot of trouble deferring to the Tutors and elder students. For every outstanding result he achieved in tests and exams he received two reprimands for disobedience and breach of Schola Protocol. Namuth, who was swiftly becoming Shubs nemesis, was almost the exact opposite: Tall, handsome and eloquent he was the epitome of a cultured, noble-born youth. He worked hard and received almost constant praise from the tutors and staff for both his results and his attitude. Nearly every class served as an example to praise Namuth and belittle Shubs accomplishments. Only in the proving grounds, under Drill-Abbot Shagtars watchful gaze did the two face each other, freed of rules and opinions, decorum and etiquette. Just two boys locked in unarmed combat. The daily sparring sessions inevitably ended with the pair of them facing off in front of the entire class. After his initial loss Namuth had quickly altered and improved his style of fighting and the two were usually an even match.

A claxon sounded heralding the end of the class and Shub quickly gathered his materials and raced for the exit, nearly bumping into Namuth. "Watch your step low-born, you wouldn't want to make stains on the floor here now would you? I hear blood is ever so difficult to get out of the carpet" the elder boy snarled. His usual trio of henchmen crowded around Shub and glared at him. Shub stared back at Namuth without flinching:" I can understand you're anxious to face me alone Namuth, especially after that trashing I gave you yesterday. How's that arm by the way? It sounded like something snapped when I floored you" Several other students filing past them to leave the class, including Kelvin, sniggered at the joke and Namuths face flushed red in embarrassment. Before he could reply Shub had slipped past them and was on his way to the firing range. Today would be their first time on the assault course; a combination of obstacle course, target-practice, and a gauge of their ability to make decisions under pressure. Shub whistled softly as he walked to the area where the range was located. Life wasn't too bad at the academy he thought as he anticipated the challenge of the assault course.

**Ultramar Academy, Grand Master Osirians office**

Grandmaster Osirian coughed violently, great hacking coughs at first giving way to a softer rasping cough as he gasped for breath. He dabbed at his mouth to remove saliva and was not surprised to see the handkerchief come away red. Reclining in the grand seat at his desk he mused on the paradox of his function: Master of one of the most lauded institutions in the Realm of Ultramar yet but a pawn in the plots of the Inquisition. Trembling with rage and shame he thought back to the total lack of emotional reaction the Inquisitor had shown when murdering his student. Liandil had been one of his most prized pupils destined for a grand career in one of the segmentums battlefleets. She had progressed through the Academies classes swiftly with top grades and had shown unwavering loyalty to the creed of the God-Emperor. And now she lay buried, her death explained as 'an unfortunate accident' Osirian slammed his fist on the desk, scattering a few sheets of reports and overturning an empty glass. One of his administrative assistants appeared in the door opening: "Is everything alright Master?" Osirian waved him away angrily. Humiliation, and death. All this for one boy with an unknown history.

"We shall see what happens to your boy Inquisitor. We shall see" the exhausted Grand Master whispered to himself as his mind was filled with thoughts of revenge.


	12. Chapter 12 III For the Academy!

**Segmentum Ultima, Espandor System, Emeriss**

Shub ducked right and used the momentum to continue in a roll that left him behind the shelter of an empty promethium barrel. The barrel, like most objects in the vicinity, was marred by scorch marks, holes and dents from small calibre arms fire. Several metres ahead of him his opponent fired a salvo of las shots, most of them ricocheting off the barrel but a few coming close to hitting Shubs arm. Sweat poured down his forehead and trickled into his eyes, stinging and making it even harder to see in the clouds of dust and smoke that permeated the street he was in. Kelvin was down, a wrong step had caused him to sprain his ankle and he had been quickly overwhelmed, three blue armoured opponents savagely clubbing him with their stun-batons. Stubs was a dozen metres behind having trouble keeping up with Shub, as usual. He would just have to fend for himself. Shub risked a quick peek past the edge of his cover. His ambushers had chosen their position well, one was lying prone at the edge of a rooftop commanding a clear view of the three streets leading up to the junction. The two others had positioned themselves behind partially crumbled masonry, making the best of their overlapping fields of fire.

Shub adjusted the visor on his helmet, loosening the straps to prevent them from cutting into his chin. The timer on his Helmet Display indicated 12 minutes left before the mission would automatically fail. Checking his belt he quickly took stock of his remaining gear and ammo: one charge-pack for his laspistol, a smoke grenade and a stun-baton. He would need to come up with something fast. Right now his opponents had the strategic advantage of being able to sit and wait for him to come to them. Assessing the situation he quickly formulated a plan of attack. Thumbing the activation-rune, he switched on his micro bead and spoke in a swift, hushed tone:

" Stubs we have just over 10 minutes left, we need to act fast."

"I am creating a smokescreen as a diversion give me covering fire from the right flank, las, grenades, anything"

Shub counted down from 3 and after 1 he chucked his last smoke grenade towards the enemy position just as Stubs opened up with a fusillade of las-shots from the right flank. Grabbing a handful of pebbles he flipped over the empty barrel, threw in the rocks and gave it a mighty kick to send it rolling towards the billowing cloud of smoke emerging from his smoke grenade. Sure enough; the sound attracted a hail of las shots fired blindly through the smoke leaving Shub to sprint as swift and silently as he could towards the left side of the building. He vaulted through an empty windowsill and sprang to his feet.

Outside the sound of lasfire continued interrupted by Stubs shouting profanities. Shub thumbed the switch on his stun baton and crept towards the stairway. The objective was located somewhere in the building and if he had analysed his opponents correctly they would have placed it on the roof near their sniper. 15 seconds of tortuously slow progress brought him to the top of the building and offered him a clear view of the sniper lying flat on the roof with the barrel of his lasgun resting on the edge of the building. The sniper was wearing the same blue uniform over flak-armour as the rest of the hostile forces. As Shub crept closer he heard Stubs crying out in agony followed by harsh laughter. The last wisps of smoke from his grenade drifted past the rooftop as the rays of the sun reflected of the snipers barrel. With a quick leap Shub pounced on the sniper and rammed the Stun baton in his neck. The man barely had time to gasp in shock as his body went rigid with energy before he collapsed. Shub dropped down, removed the blue helmet and quickly put it on, sliding down the visor to mask his features. Grabbing the lasrifle he quickly spotted the last two blue armoured opponents standing near Stubs prone form and took them out with two fast, well placed shots to their backs. As the laser beam hit each of their suits of armour it triggered an electric shock incapacitating the wearer. A loud claxon resounded followed by the voice of Instructor Kuril:" Assault scenario is over, victory to the red team"

Shub grinned as he slapped Kelvin on the back. "Cheer up Kel, we won. The medics will have your ankle fixed in time for this year's challenge." Kelvin grimaced, still sore from the discharge of stun batons. "At least we are in the top ranks for our year Shub. With some luck we might have a shot at joining the Storm trooper cadets or at least the officers academy" Nearby the losing blue team nursed their injuries. Even though the lasguns were set for minimal output, a hit on an unprotected part of the body could still cause a nasty burn. A direct hit would of course activate the armours built in shock system to incapacitate the wearer and simulate the trauma of an actual combat injury. As Shub watched the other team he caught the eye of Leopold, captain of the Blue Team who gave him a respectful nod.

Much had changed in these past 3 years at the Academy. Through sheer determination, skill and excellence Shub had risen swiftly in the all-important Academy Ranking system. At 15 years of age he had also matured into a hardened, physically fit young man. No longer did he appear malnourished but rather lean of frame and packed with muscle and explosive power. He was still shorter than most Macragge native students but what he lacked in size he compensated in speed and intelligence. The Academy Ranking System was the sum of a student's achievements in the various classes and subjects ranging from Imperial Doctrine to marksmanship. Once a year the rankings would lead to a draft with the myriad institutions of the Imperium selecting the most promising students for further training in their own institutions. Most coveted were the Storm Trooper regiments and the Naval Academy, a position in the Imperial Guard Officers Academy brought quite a bit of prestige with it as well. Each year a select few of the most promising students would be whisked away by mysterious representatives from undisclosed Imperial organisations, the Assassins' Temples or even the dreaded inquisition it was whispered.

Shubs basic Progenia education was nearly complete and soon it would be time for his further training. Life at the Academy had been harsh but much better compared to a life of forced labour in some anonymous Factorum. He had made some enemies and even a few friends but most important of all he had discovered more and more of what set him apart from his peers. Not only did his mind process information much faster enabling him to react with nearly unnatural speed and foresight, his body was different as well. Wounds healed faster and he was capable of tremendous feats of strength and endurance. He had realized immediately that he must keep this a secret for the Imperium was notoriously intolerant of people different from the norm. What troubled Shub the most was the fact that Grand Master Osirian himself had a grudge against him. The signs were subtle and would have been easily missed by a lesser intellect: last minute changes to his roster, a faulty las gun handed out during training, being paired with the weakest possible class members for the various team combat exercises. When investigated all these little mishaps were traceable to a web of coercion and bribery centred on the venerable Grand Master. He did not know what he had done to earn the ire of the Academy's lord and master but Shub knew he had to keep striving to be the best so he could be recruited by another Imperial Institution and avoid the unwanted attention of Osirian.

**Segmentum Ultima, the very outskirts of the Ultramar region of space, Way station 1298.44**

The damp atmosphere reeked of stale oil and fungus. Droplets of moisture formed lazily on the ceiling only to drop to the floor moments later. The background noise of vast machinery rumbled on in the background. Ensign LeVrai checked his auspex for the tenth time in the past 30 minutes. Muttering a curse to the machine god that would have made a Martian blush he sloshed through the knee deep coolant fluid filling the stations lower maintenance deck. "That bloody leak has to be around here somewhere" he complained as he tried to make sense of the apparatus garbled readings. Just an hour ago a piece of space debris had impacted on the Way stations surface and apparently ruptured a main coolant line. The Way station was a relatively small outpost, a rectangular series of structures measuring just over a kilometre in length with a minimal staff. Being stationed on one of the hundreds of Way stations was considered to be something of a penal duty by the men and women enlisted in the Ultramar civilian fleet. Even though the emergency bulkheads had sealed off the breach in the outer hull, imperial doctrine demanded an investigation and the filing of several reports. LeVrai had drawn straws with the five other ensigns on technical duty and lost and was therefore now searching the lower decks for the leak causing the gradual flooding of the lower deck.

"Command, this is LeVrai. I am experiencing some type of interference with the auspex. Please advise" The ensign tapped his commbead but heard only static. Apparently whatever was interfering with the auspex also messed up his communications device. "Command, come in? Gary? If this is your idea of a prank I swear I will mix coolant liquid in your recaf for the next month" The channel gave only more static leading to another string of curses by the Ensign. LeVrai moved to wipe sweat of his forehead with the sleeve of his grey tunic when he heard a splashing noise coming from behind him. The startled man whirled around moving his flashlight to see where the sound originated from but all he could see was the corridor he had been travelling along and the cold, dark coolant fluid still rippling in the wake of his passage. Oddly enough the ripples in the water increased even though he was standing still. A sleek form burst through the liquids surface, all razor-sharp talons and fangs, pouncing on LeVrai who shrieked and fell backwards raising his arms defensively. The creature tore through the flesh and bone of the blocking arm with contemptuous ease, severing tendons and muscles with molecularly sharpened chitin. In a heartbeat it latched onto the doomed Ensigns chest, tearing open his throat with its fangs and gulping down chunks of flesh even as LeVrai twitched feebly. Behind it more of its kin emerged from tunnels and scuttled forward eagerly seeking prey and sustenance.

Screams of horror and agony soon resounded through the halls of the Way station as predators found their prey and fed. In the cold uncaring void of space bordering the Macragge system, dozens of asteroids harbouring a deadly cargo hurtled towards their unsuspecting targets.

_After an absence due to Real Life raiding my attention i am currently working on the next chapter featuring character development, new foes, and old allies._


	13. Chapter13 IV A vast uncaring sentience

Chapter 13 IV A vast and uncaring sentience

Once upon a time the planet Alesin had been home to an isolated but thriving community of Terran colonists. Seeded in the days of the Great Crusade the local community had flourished and in the span of just several centuries built a shining example of human industry and pious dedication to the doctrine of the God-Emperor. Great factories stood shoulder to shoulder with grand cathedrals soaring miles into the sky blackened by the fires of industry. Thousands of men at arms stood vigilant armed with the very best the forges of the Mechanicum and the Administratum could produce.

When the warp storms first came the planetary leadership reacted swiftly and decisively; mustering troops and calling back the local fleet to form a defensive perimeter around Alesin. Small riots were quickly quelled and order and control were maintained easily. Weeks of no contact with the Imperium turned into months and months turned into years. Stockpiles of food and water dwindled as the government was forced to strictly ration what little was available. More alarmingly, hostile creatures, never before encountered, stalked the wastelands and plains of Alesin occasionally raiding habitats and murdering the occupants or dragging them off screaming to a terrible fate.

Then a vast armada of ancient, hulking warships erupted from the warp near Alesin. A week long orbital bombardment turned most of the cities to rubble leaving only the Manufactorums relatively unscathed. Wave after wave of landing craft were disgorged from the ships carrying hordes of lightly armed but fanatic cultists spurred on by cruel overseers.

It took only 2 weeks of bloody conflict to subdue the defenders and unmake what had taken generations to build. The populace of Alesin were either sacrificed to the invaders dark gods or enslaved to work on rebuilding the planet. As the corrupting influence of the warp storm twisted man and nature the once industrious planet turned into a hell forged pit of industry and malice.

Now after millennia Alesin is a bastion of the chaos gods and home to Chaos Lord Aldrecht and his legions of heretics. From the confines of a nightmarish city of iron and blood legions of Dark Mechanicum Hereteks work ceaselessly to operate a titanic weapon able to propel projectiles through the warp to a destination light-years away. Vile writhing forms slumber uneasily in the confines of rocky prisons as they are loaded with utmost care into the waiting barrel of the Warp cannon.

Deep resonating sounds of a great bell sounding again and again. A great doom is coming.

Shub tossed and turned in his bunk. Asleep yet restless, his dreams filled with ominous portents. Around him his fellow students of the Academy lay asleep, dreaming perhaps of a bright future in service to the Empire of man. Around them the Academy lay silent and dark save for a few lone clerks making their rounds or a servitor performing some menial chore. Outside a single falling star illuminated the verdant forests of the planet with an eerie glow. Closer and closer it came heading for a mountain range only several hundred kilometres from the academy. With a deafening roar and thundering crash the stellar projectile clipped one of the mountaintops then bounced with incredible speed further into a valley of arboreal giants knocking over dozens of ancient trees before finally coming to a stop. Residual heat radiated from the strange rocklike object sizzling and popping like a great roasted chunk of flesh. After a few moments cracks appeared in the object and thick green liquid oozed out of the openings forming a puddle of sludge at the spheres base. Suddenly some sort of scaly limb erupted from the sphere and a bloodcurdling shriek echoed though the forests of the planet. In the skies above several more fiery trails blossomed as more projectiles hurtled towards the planet's surface.

The silence and calm was shattered by the Academies great bell tolling again and again. A deep low sound that carried though every hallway and corridor, each room and tower, and every courtyard and plaza. Shub bolted upright, awake like the rest of his classmates that shared the dormitory. The boy rubbed his eyes and tried to identify those around him in the near darkness of early morning. He could recognize most of them by sound alone; light shuffling of bare feet on the cold stone floor to his right. A hacking cough accompanied by scratching ahead of him and cracking of knuckles behind him followed by a yawn. Alec, Stubs, and Kel: Shub had become accustomed to their every sound and movement after spending months with them training and sleeping and talking in the small dormitory they shared. With quick efficient movements Shub dressed himself and gathered his belongings: "Something is wrong, very wrong" he muttered as he fastened his Ultramar Academy knife in its scabbard. Stubs stretched again and scratched his belly: "You're damn right something is wrong. That infernal bell woke us up and before breakfast too!" A deep rumbling sound reverberated through the complex and both Shub and Kel cocked their heads and listened. "That's the Academy shuttle powering up" Shub said. He and Kel look at each other in surprise. "There is no field exercise planned for today?" Kel half stated half questioned. With a snapping sound followed by some static the lights went on bathing everyone and everything in glaring white illumination. Immediately the voxsystem activated broadcasting a clerk's voice throughout the Schola Progenium:"Students and staff of the Academy, security protocol Delta-IV has been enacted. Report to your supervisors immediately. This is not a drill. The Emperor protects." The four boys looked at each other in equal measures of awe and anxiety. Delta protocols were strictly tied to imminent danger of armed conflict and direct threats to the safety of the Academy and its inhabitants. A full-fledged Delta IV situation could only mean one thing: war.

The hissing sound of coolant fluid hitting the overheated barrel of the multi-laser turret drowned out the sound of servos whining in protest as the heavy gun emplacement traversed left and right firing beams of death into the edge of the forest several hundred meters away. Fleeting shapes could be seen darting between trees and through the undergrowth, always moving from cover to cover and never staying out in the open for too long. Occasionally a shriek could be heard as one of the shots hit its target but the majority of the defensive guns merely hit branches, leaves, and rocks. The outpost of the Macraggan Defence Force was small but heavily armed and every soldier had been raised to excel in serving as the military might of Macragge and the Emperor. Echo 14 was one of few such outposts on Emeriss serving as a staging area for Ultramarine Neophytes and the occasional PDF training exercise. After a shower of space debris materialized seemingly out of nowhere and hit the moon's surface, scanners had shown an increasing number of xenos creatures moving though the wilderness slaughtering everything in their path. Forewarned, the commanding officer had recalled all patrols and set up a defensive perimeter around the outpost, manning every turret and barricade with his detachment of Macraggan military. A sudden flurry of movement and a dark haze obstructing his vision gave sergeant Fidelio of Outpost Echo 14 a seconds notice to duck behind the protective shielding of a barrier of hastily erected plas-steel plates and empty fuel containers. Several of his squad were not fast enough and fell to the ground screaming and clawing at their flesh as some form of parasite began burrowing into their bodies. The hard clicks and pops of further salvos of these small, bullet-like creatures exploding on his cover cautioned Fidelio to keep his head down.

The squads Heavy Bolter opened fire as fire discipline was abandoned, its heavy chugging sound soon followed by the booming explosions of mass-reactive bolt shells exploding and pieces of shrapnel tearing into their surroundings. Fidelio took a deep breath and risked a quick look at the tree line. A large group of insect-like creatures advanced firing strange organic weaponry. Their elongated domed heads glistened with moisture and their bodies were covered in some form of segmented carapace. Driving the creatures forward were several towering creatures easily three times the height of a man looking like some hellish cross between a predatory mantis insect and a fiend from the warp. Thick chitin scales and bony protrusions protected the monstrosities from incoming fire and even as Fidelio watched he saw multiple hits from las guns being harmlessly deflected. One of the monsters lifted an enormous object resembling a veined tree trunk studded with crystalline growths. With a vile green flash it emitted a blob of dazzlingly emerald fluid that raced towards the heavy bolter emplacement. When the vapour cleared the gun and its crew had been reduced to a few pools of steaming sludge. Fidelio grimaced and checked his las pistol and chain sword. They would certainly die today but he would make the invaders bleed for every step they took. "For Ultramar! He shouted at the top of his lungs as he fired a volley of well-placed shots into the advancing horde. His fellow Macaraggans, steeled by his battle cry, similarly took up their arms and unleashed a withering hail of fire into the approaching enemy cutting down dozens of the smaller xenos. Right then a well-placed salvo from one of the multilaser turrets blasted apart one of the larger attackers and for a moment the advance halted. A ragged cheer went up from the outpost defenders. It was quickly drowned in the cries of mayhem and pain as the horde of creatures continued their advance firing continuously with their organic weaponry. Soldiers left and right died horribly and the defensive line folded as the creatures closed in for the kill. Fidelio's hand burned with the heat of his las pistol overheating from prolonged fire as he swung his chain sword in a wide arc, trying desperately to keep the clawing monstrosities at bay. There were almost no defenders left, the last pockets of resistance being overrun by an implacable advance. A talon swung, tearing open his forehead and removing a flap of skin. The blood gushed profusely blinding him from the attacker poised for a lethal lunge. As sergeant Fidelio died he briefly imagined that he was being eaten alive.

Groups of grim looking students and staff stood lined up in the central plaza of the Schola Progenium. Instructors paced around inspecting uniforms and gear making sure everything was in order. The safety mechanisms used in training had been removed and every student, even the youngest, had been issued Munitorum standard las guns and 3 power packs. Shub stood at ease, his feet planted firmly on the ground and his body relaxing as his mind raced through the possible scenarios. He had picked up rumours that communication had been lost with some of the outposts and that an unidentified enemy force was heading their way. The air was nearly abuzz with tension and excitement when the vox-enhanced voice of Grand Master Aurelian addressed the gathered people. "Students and staff of the Schola Progenium, it is with great pride that I inform you that we will soon be offered the chance to prove our faith in the Emperor of mankind through the age old trial of combat." A deathly silence fell over the plaza as the wizened voice of the Academies master continued. "The enemies of mankind have been led to our doorstep and into the crucible of war where only those of pure faith and clear belief in the supremacy of mankind will emerge victorious." "Take up the las gun and blade, honour the traditions of this hallowed academy, and bring death to the enemies of the Emperor" A great cheer rose from the plaza as eyes brimmed with pride and backs straightened. "Harken to your instructors, they will lead you into battle, but you will be responsible for victory." "The Emperor protects" And with a last crackle of static the voxcaster cut the transmission leaving those gathered stunned and buzzing with anticipation.

"Listen up scumbags, you are sorry excuses for students and a true soldier would wipe his arse with your pathetic hides but you will have to do." The towering form of Drill-Abbot Shagtan loomed imposingly over the assembled students of class 412-B. The already intimidatingly large frame of Shagtan was further enhanced by a chest plate of carapace armour, several bandoliers of ammo, and an enormous combat shotgun. Slung casually across his back was a worn but well maintained chain sword. The Drill-Abbot glared at Shub. "We have been tasked with defending a location on the western perimeter of the Academy. If you want to live: follow orders. Anyone who disobeys an order or who tries and run gets a one way ticket to the afterlife courtesy of my little friend here." The giant of a man said patting the barrel of his firearm lovingly.

"As you command Drill-Abbot" The class intoned in unison. The group of students made their way along one of the old walkways tracing the base of the outer wall of the academy. The great blocks of natural stone blocked the worst of the sun and cast a shadow over the band of armed children. The Drill-Abbot led the formation followed by Namuth carrying an ancient automatic slug thrower salvaged from a dusty corner of an Academy arsenal. Stubs walked close to Namuth sweating profusely as he carried several boxes of ammo for the heavy weapon. The rest of the students followed in single file each scanning the surroundings nervously for movement. The rear of the formation was brought up by Alek who glanced across his shoulder nervously every few seconds.

The atmosphere in the Schola Progenium complex was laden with tension yet it was silent in most places. Servants and scribes clumsily carrying weapons hurried to their designated positions with anxious expressions. The birds had stopped chirping and flies no longer buzzed lazily in the warmth of the sun as if nature itself had fled before the coming violence. Several hundred meters from the western wall of the Academy sensors activated briefly and reported massed movement before going offline, their connections severed. Despite being an academic institution the Ultramar Schola Progenium had a well-deserved reputation for martial tradition. The complex had been built to the exacting demands of the Administratum and was part fortress, part temple to the God-Emperor and part academy. Its thick outer walls were solid and could endure all but the heaviest of fire and were angled to offer overlapping fields of fire.

Shub wiped a droplet of sweat of his forehead as he stared intently at the sun-scorched field of grass that led up to the section of wall he and his class had been sent to defend. Despite the lack of time he and 3 others had done their best to prepare a defensive position. A few meters away Drill-Abbot Shagtar patrolled the battlements putting the fear of the Emperor in the boys who were already quivering with fear and dread for what would happen.

"Contact! Multiple hostiles incoming at 300 meters!" Alek shouted at the top of his lungs. Squinting against the glare of the sun Shub quickly spied the first of the attackers cresting a low hill and emerging from the undergrowth. Horrid insect-like creatures hugging low to the ground and darting left and right as they advanced. As he watched them swarm towards the patch of grass leading up to the wall Shub could not help but being reminded of a colony of Terran ants moving in on some morsel of food lying discarded at a table. "Hold your fire maggots!" The Drill-Abbots gravelly voice spat as the boys, especially the younger ones nervously clutched their lasguns. "200 meters and closing!" Alek shouted, glancing nervously at Shagtar. The creatures were now close enough to make out individual details: glistening blue-purple carapace, revolting purple flesh swelling and deflating the creatures moved to cover as much ground as possible. "Namuth you're up!" Shagtar barked. Immediately the ancient stubber angrily flared into action sending hundreds of solid projectiles into the advancing enemy. Spent casings were forcefully ejected from the weapons and clattered to the stone floor. "Reload!" Namuth shouted after only a few seconds of continuous fire. Stubs removed the empty ammo belt from the stubber, whispered a prayer to the weapons machine spirit and attached a belt of fresh ammo. "First rank fire!" Shagtar shouted and the front rank of boys opened up fire with controlled salvos of semi-automatic lasfire. The bolts of red energy could hardly miss the mass of seething monstrosities but many shots merely ricocheted off the chitin armour and relatively few of the creatures were killed or injured. The aliens themselves had started firing their biological weaponry sending thick clouds of organic projectiles towards the boys' defensive positions. "Second rank fire!" Shagtars command rang out and the other half of the class opened up with controlled fire as the first group removed spent power cells and inserted fresh ones. "They are almost at the wall we have to Aiiiiighh" Alek fell to the floor next to Shub clawing at his own flesh. Shub watched in horror as he saw something move beneath Alek's skin hungrily burrowing into his flesh. The boy shrieked and tore at his flesh as he was being eaten from the inside, his tortured wails cutting through the din of battle. With a single shot Alek's agony was ended, blood trickling from a neat hole in his skull. Shagtar stood towering over the boy's corpse for a moment before unceremoniously heaving it over the parapet. "May his soul rest in the guiding light of the Emperor" The man intoned. He shifted his gaze to Shub: "You're up boy, better make that shot."

Shub blinked, trying to reconcile himself with the bloody demise of a boy he had known and studied with every day since he had started at the Academy. He let out a shuddering breath and reached into his own mind to find the soothing centre of his consciousness. The part that made him different from others. The sounds of battle faded to the background and he let his gaze fall upon the field beyond the Academies wall. Broken xenos bodies littered the grass and the ground was stained with ichor but swiftly he found the object that was his mission. He focussed and time crawled almost to a halt. Stubber bullets traced their way lazily through the air and erupted in clouds of dust or fountains of alien blood as they hit home. The first line of assailants leapt across one of their kind's corpse eager to reach the wall and the prey it sheltered. Shubs finger pressed the trigger and the coolant system on his lasgun flared to compensate for the sudden build-up of heat. The single, overcharged bolt sped unerringly towards its target and hit the ground just in front of the advancing xenos. With a tremendous explosion the ground erupted over a span of several meters, the explosives and shrapnel buried just beneath the surface expanding in a wall of fiery death enveloping the advancing xenos shredding them to chunks and violently tearing limbs. Time sped up again and Shub was thrown back by the shockwave. After a brief moment of uncharacteristic silence the defenders gathered their wits and took their positions on the wall again. The few xenos still alive were quickly dispatched as they tried to crawl towards the wall trailing shattered limbs and horrid burns. As Shub depleted his energy cell he took a moment to take stock of the situation. The attack here had be repelled but at what cost? Alek and two others had died horribly and even worse he could hear cries of pain and fear from within the Academy complex further to the south. Apparently the invaders had managed to breach the outer perimeter and were now prowling the hallways of the Schola.

As the Drill-Abbot reorganized the remainder of the class Shub reviewed flashes of information filtering through from his subconscious: names like Behemoth, and Kraken and of entire worlds dying. These were no ordinary Xenos but a galactic plague of unimaginable proportions! Always evolving, eternally ravenous, unfamiliar with fear or diplomacy the great devourer could only think about one thing: feeding in order to grow more powerful.

All thoughts were forced from his mind as a sleek six-limbed xenos bounded over the inner edge of the wall quickly followed by two of its kin. Its limbs ended in wickedly sharp blades equally suited to climbing as well as disembowelling. It stared for a fraction, jet-black eyes devoid of any emotion before leaping forward onto the back of Stubs who was caught totally unaware. A pair of chitin blades pierced the soft flesh of his neck and penetrated deep into his chest severing trachea and arteries. With a surprised gurgling sound the boy slumped to the ground. Shagtar reacted first, raising his shotgun and firing a shot that turned the creatures head and most of its torso into a bloody pulp. With a roar he reloaded the weapon as more of the creatures scaled the wall. "Fall back to the barracks!" The Drill-Abbot shouted felling his foes left and right with well-placed shots. Hormagaunts, Shub thought to himself, one of the lower forms of the tyranid species and often the vanguard of a larger force. Around him class 412-B scattered and fled back to the inner compound using the time provided to them by Shagtar. Shub squeezed off a few shots from his las gun managing to wound a Hormagaunt but failing to accomplish the growing horde trying to get past the enraged Drill-Abbot. Hurling his empty Shotgun into the leaping form of an attacker Shagtar revved his chain sword, sweeping it in great arcs to keep them at bay. He bled from numerous cuts and was visibly growing weaker. With a last glance over his shoulder Shub followed the rest of his class just in time to see Shagtar being enveloped by a mass of writhing limbs and hacking talons.


	14. Chapter 14 V The hunters bcome the hunte

**Chapter 14 V Hunters become the hunted**

The ancient hallways of the Schola Progenium were empty. Scattered sheets of paper twirled lazily in the wind near a discarded data slate, its view screen cracked and chipped. The warm air carried the coppery smell of blood mixed with an odd herbal odour. A lone Hormagaunt prowled the eastern corridor leading to the Grand Librarium, elongated chitin encased head swivelling left and right as if sampling the air. Its swarm-kin had all perished in the initial assault of the wall but it was beyond feelings of loyalty or compassion. The vaulted ceiling of the corridor bore depictions of stern looking patriarchs and priests spreading the Imperial creed; scripture in one hand, a chain sword in the other. The Hormagaunts accelerated metabolism had burnt up energy at a tremendous rate and it needed to feed soon or risk severe weakness. The soothing yet adamant presence of the Hive mind was nearby, directing its animalistic urges towards a simple goal: hunt and devour.

A whimpering sound drew its attention: two dozen meters away a terrified boy tried to hide behind an overturned table but his laboured breathing and body odour gave him away easily. With graceful bounds the Hormagaunt closed the distance leaping from floor to wall and over the makeshift barricade, its alien limbs easily finding purchase on the ancient stone surface. The boy made a mad dash for the Librarium entrance flanked by twin pillars and reached it with only a few meters to spare. Sensing a quick and easy kill the Hormagaunt moved after him, hurtling past the pillars like an organic projectile composed of fangs and claws.

With the characteristic snapping sound heard so much throughout the battlefields of the 40th millennium half a dozen las guns opened fire sending a storm of angry red bolts of energy towards the galactic predator: several hit it causing wounds that immediately flash burnt the surrounding tissue but many shots deflected off the slick reflective carapace. Wounded but not disabled the Tyranid leapt into the air towards its prey while the boy shouted: "For Thrones sake KILL IT SHUB!"

As the Hormagaunt sprang for its prey with four talons extended Shub moved from his place of hiding behind a towering bookcase loaded with dusty tomes and fired his shotgun at point blank range. The recoil from the simple yet effective weapon rocked him back a few paces but the miniature metal pellets expelled from the weapons barrel tore into the Hormagaunt, easily fracturing its carapace and shredding the alien tissue. With a great crash the still twitching remains of the creature dropped to the ground mere inches from the quivering form of Ilander.

"You frekkin groxhumping son of an Ork!" Ilander yelled at Shub as six other boys and one girl gathered around to look at the dead Hormagaunt. "That thing nearly got me!" The pale twelve year old looked at the dead Hormagaunt in disgust. Shub ignored Ilanders angry stare and moved to inspect the dead Hormagaunt.

"Shut up Ilander, you'll attract more of the buggers with your whining. Besides you're still alive right?" Alek said as he sniffed the air. "Did you just crap your pants?"

Indeed the air was suffused with a mixture of sweat, urine and other bodily excrement. Ilander turned bright red and mumbled something illegible.

Shub meanwhile was on his knees next to the Hormagaunt corpse which still twitched slightly as the alien muscle and nerves coped with the sudden and fatal lack of neural stimulation. He ran the fingers of his biological hand across the scorch marks caused by the lasguns and the ragged edges of the entry wound where his shotgun had hit it.

"These creatures have fought humans before." Shub remarked pointing out the evidence of ricocheted lasfire. "They have evolved to better withstand las weaponry. Look at the way this carapace is moist and slightly reflective, and the way the plates are angled." The other boys stood silently around him in a semi-circle.

"No wonder they broke through the first line of defence so easily, they are built to withstand our most common weaponry" Alek remarked.

A hideous shriek in the distance interrupted their musings.

"We need to move fast and get to the armoury to find other weapons; solid projectiles seem to do the trick" Shub said as he scanned the seven remaining members of his class. His friend Alek had a grim but determined look. He had discarded the automatic stubber when they fled from the western perimeter, its weight and bulk too much to carry at any speed. Next to him stood Kelvin, left arm bandaged but otherwise healthy. He looked at his las gun with mixed emotions as he digested the news he had just received. The remainder of the group consisted of Namuth whom they had picked up in their retreat from the western perimeter, Gloria a rather rotund 14 year old female commissarial cadet with short cropped blonde hair, Constantine the quiet elder of class 401-B, Wulf a sprig of a boy who had just turned 13 and who could barely heft his lasgun, and Ilander who stood away from the rest of the group trying to cope with his fouled clothing without drawing too much attention.

Shub cranked the slider on his shotgun chambering a new shell and mentally reviewed their current position relative to the closest Schola armoury. With his near perfect recollection of facts and memory he knew that a relief force would be sent to the Schola: they were in the very heart of the realm of Macragge and it would only be a matter of time before the masters of Ultramar responded to this invasion of their domain. Still it was odd that a force of Tyranids had appeared out of the blue here in the very heart of the Ultramar System; after the Segmentum Solar one of the most heavily defended areas in the Imperium of Man. Quickly reviewing the options and discarding the routes that would cross too many open spaces Shub settled for a less often used path behind some of the Schola's environmental training facilities that would lead them directly to a secondary armoury. Drawing the approach on a piece of parchment he outlined the areas they would need to cover and which angles were most likely to be used by any Tyranid organisms.

"Remember, these creatures have specifically evolved to cope with energy weapons so expect to need multiple shots to take one down. Aim for the side of the skull that is where this strain of Gaunt has the organs responsible for balance and spatial awareness." Shub pointed out with the barrel of shotgun using the dead Hormagaunt as an example. "A direct hit there will take out its ability to move fast or climb walls. At least temporarily"

Gloria frowned: "Where did you get all this information on blasphemous xenos? I have never heard of these creatures before let alone familiarized myself with their aberrant physiology"

Shub shrugged: "It helps to pay attention to classes and if it helps us to kill them even better"

The cadet-commissar frowned, clearly unhappy with the answer but unwilling to do anything about it in their current predicament. Checking their weapons for the last time the 8 students moved off at a pace.

**Bridge of Ultramar Sword-Class frigate "**_**Guisarme**_**", Espandor system**

The powerful wedge-shaped armoured prow of the Imperial ship flared angrily as it ploughed through the cloud of debris that was all that was left of a trio of asteroids. The ship itself was old and temperamental but armed to the teeth and cruised through the void like a predator. Rows of turret-mounted Lance weapons jutted from the dark grey outer hull ready to fire deadly beams of concentrated energy over thousands of kilometres. In the wake of the Guisarme the void was illuminated by the dark red glow of massive plasma engines propelling the Frigate through space at a leisurely pace.

"Captain, Auspex has picked up another group of projectiles emerging from the warp heading for the tertiary planet in the system." A crewman reported, reading the complex lines of data on his workstation.

The middle-aged man in crisp dark blue navy attire occupying the ornamental throne dominating the bridge chuckled: "Ignore them, Espandor III is a planet unable to sustain organic lifeforms, its methane atmosphere will take care of our uninvited guests" Captain Unkriss was young for a captain in the Ultramar Navy. Even with his five decades of service the responsibility for a crew of more than 50.000 thousand souls still occupied his every waking thought. Even though he held absolute authority on this vessel he still deferred to Ultramar's true masters; the great Lords of Macragge.

"Set a course for the second moon of Emeriss, we have a relief force to deliver to the Schola Progenium" He commanded. "Ready the landing craft and put all gun crews on full alert. Inform Lord Ezerin that we will achieve orbit over Emeriss in two hours" As he relayed his orders dozens of officers rushed to their tasks and rows of specialized servitors slaved into ancient cogitator banks commenced the demanding task of translating the Captains wishes into supplications to _Guisarmes_ sacred Machine Spirit. With a distinct tremor the vast plasma drives increased power and the kilometre and a half long hull of the frigate accelerated into a sweeping turn towards their new heading.

**Emeris, Schola Progenium, central segment-secondary plasma generator facility**

With a sad sputter the last droplets of promethium were expelled from Brother Marcus long-barrelled flamer leaving the fuel tank empty. The priest cursed in a decidedly non-devout fashion and discarded the now useless weapon. The narrow alley in front of him was clogged with still smouldering Tyranid corpses the air filled with the sickening smell of scorched carapace and roasted flesh, it had served as a perfect chokepoint to cook the near-mindless xenos in their vile alien shells.

"To perish screaming in the holy fire of the Emperor, that is the fate of the alien" Marcus mumbled, reciting a litany of Hatred. His already limited options were quickly running out. When the xenos had breached the outer perimeter Marcus had rushed to his chambers to retrieve his Eclessiarchy symbols: The book of Scripture, the flamer and the chain sword. Rallying a group of terrified clerks he had battled the xenos in the labyrinthine passages and walkways of the Academy. One after the other the defenders had been picked off, attacked and butchered until only Marcus was left. But the priest was a veteran of three decades of warfare embedded with the 305th Catachan Infantry. If there was one thing his time with the crazed deathworlders had taught him it was surviving against overwhelming odds. Besides, he mused, Catachans would probably see Tyranids as cute pets compared to the indigenous life forms of their home planet.

A bloodcurdling scream caught his attention. Judging by the pitch and intensity the xenos invaders had just killed another student nearby. Discarding the empty flamer, Marcus hefted his chain sword and moved swiftly to investigate. It wasn't long before he found the lifeless body of a young female student torn apart at the waist and covered in hideous wounds. The old priest made the sign of the Aquilla and vowed to avenge her death.

**The skies of Emeriss**

The Mk V Lucius Pattern Drop pod hurtled through the atmosphere at a speed that would reduce normal men to gibbering wrecks followed by a G-force induced coma at best. The austere and functional interior was packed with ten massive power armoured warriors bearing the proud ultramarine blue of their chapter, each seated in a protective harness. Unconcerned gazes made last minute checks on powerful bolt guns and additional supplies of ammo and grenades. A scarred veteran applied sacred oils and unguents to a massive gauntlet connected to his armour with a series of cables and pistons.

"Brother Sergeant we have reached the target area, estimated time to impact 30 seconds" said a heavily augmented space marine as his cybernetic eye whirred and clicked to focus on the trembling pictscreen.

"Primarch be praised brothers, brace for impact and prepare to deploy in standard assault pattern" Sergeant Ezerin of the Ultramarines 4th Company replied. The sergeant made a final visual inspection of his squad, nodding at each of his brother Space Marines as he made eye contact.

Every warrior in 7th squad had seen at least two decades of active duty and some like himself and the squads Techmarine bore the service studs denoting a century of continuous service in the XIII Legion. Brother Amalfi, the squads Heavy weapons specialist checked the protective casing on his Heavy Bolter and mouthed a prayer to the Emperor. The lights flashed and turned red as the Drop pods machine spirit conveyed the imminent completion of its task.

"Courage and Honour Brothers" the Ultramarine Sergeant intoned

"Courage and Honour!" the squad echoed.

Like a blazing comet the massive form of the drop pod hurtled through the sky over the Schola Progenium sending a shockwave of superheated air outwards from its trajectory. At the very last moment the incredibly powerful retro-thrusters ignited and slowed the craft to a speed that would still turn a normal man to boneless pulp but left its superhuman occupants rattled but alive. The Pod crashed into an elegantly tiled roof, bursting through to end up in the ruined remains of what was once a storage facility. A brood of Termagants approached the crash site swiftly but cautiously, firing controlled salvoes with their Flesh borers. With a hiss and the venting of pressurized air the hatches of the drop pod opened. Immediately the thunderous boom of the built-in Storm Bolter shattered the relative silence as it unleashed a torrent of mass-reactive bolts at the dozen Termagants. Half of the xenos died when the rounds ripped apart their bodies from the inside, the other half scattered to cover behind pieces of rubble and crumbling masonry.

"For Macragge and the Emperor!" with a bellowing war cry the Ultramarines charged from their transport, Sergeant Ezerin leading from the front with his Bolt pistol roaring and his Power Fist crackling with barely contained energy. With a few great bounds the sergeant scaled the rockcrete barrier the Termagants were using as cover and shot one of the creatures in the skull from point blank range. Two of the remaining Tyranids fired their bio weaponry at the sergeant but the frenzied beetles failed to penetrate the ceramite armour plating. With a powerful hook he smashed his power fist into the nearest Tyranid. The massive armoured gauntlet caved in the creature's torso, vaporizing blood and alien ichor with its built in disruptive field. Behind and next to the sergeant the rest of his squad were finishing off Tyranids at short range with accurate bursts of fire from their bolt guns. The remaining Termagant died as Ezerin caved in its head with a backhanded swipe of his power weapon.

"Form up into combat squads, squad 1 on me, squad 2 on Amalfi." "Primary objective Search and Destroy" Sergeant Ezerin said and the Space Marines quickly and efficiently split up in two 5 man squads and headed off in opposite directions.

**A hallway, somewhere in the Academy**

"Did you hear that?" Gloria said turning her head towards the roaring sound.

Shub paused midstride striving to make sense of the sound." It sounds like some form of engine or missile" Just as the sound was growing loud enough to hear without straining it suddenly flared sending thundering waves of noise across the Academy rooftops followed by a loud crash causing flecks of paint and dust to drift lazily from the ornamental ceilings to the floor.

"It sounds like someone crashed their shuttle into the Academy" Namuth corrected. "That's just great we finally get rescued and they fly our escape ship into the frekking Academy"

"Escape? Who said anything about escaping?" Gloria interjected. "We will fight to the last man, woman and child if need be to exterminate these xenos invaders" Her eyes shone with the barely contained zeal of the commissariat, which combined with her rather plump frame bouncing from the left foot to the right made for a rather comic effect.

Namuth scoffed: "You can fight all the damned aliens you want Glory-girl, I intend to make it out of here alive."

"You cowardly scum!" Gloria snarled as she aimed her las gun at Namuth standing right in front of her. "You are a disgrace to the Academy and the Empire, I should execute you for cowardice right now!"

Namuth laughed mockingly and stepped forward, towering over the much smaller girl: "You couldn't execute a proper grox sandwich you little bitch"

The las gun emitted a snapping sound raking the ground near the larger boy's feet with lasfire and causing Namuth to jump backwards like a whipped gretchin and promptly tripping and falling flat on his behind.

"By the authority granted to the commissariat by the Administratum I **should** sentence you to death for showing cowardice in the face of the enemy, Namuth Elgin." Gloria spoke quietly as she aimed the gun at Namuth "But we are fighting for our lives against the filthy xenos, so I will reserve judgement for a later time"

Shub sighed deeply. Namuth and Gloria had been as two quarrelling administratum clerks shut in a tiny room since their first day at the Academy. How the two of them had managed to make it this far without killing or maiming each other was a mystery. Still he wished they would set aside their differences in this situation. They had worse things to deal with.

Giving Namuth a meaningful stare and shrug of his shoulders Shub was about to lead the way when the unmistakable sound of bolter fire resounded from some distance away. The students rallied at the sound that could only mean the arrival of their saviours and moved towards the sound at a running pace.

As Shub rounded another corner in the labyrinthine complex he heard a gurgling sound behind him. Coming to a dead stop he turned around only to see Ilander being dragged backwards by what seemed like a larger serpentine version of a Hormagaunt. The creature had impaled the unfortunate boy with a pair of its scything talons and was already tearing into the lifeless body as it dragged Ilander into a nearby room. The others, alerted to their friend's demise shouted in dismay but were held back from pursuit by a shouted command from Shub:

"NO, we must leave him, he is already dead"

Gloria nodded grimly.

"Shub is right, our priority is to link up with the relief force."

The survivors, now reduced by one made their way through another abandoned corridor when suddenly the towering shape of an Astartes rounded the corner, enormous bolt gun held ready and his power armour covered with alien blood and ichor. After a moment four more of the giant soldiers appeared all equally armed and covered except for a single marine armed with a crackling power fist and bolt-pistol.

The students gasped, their mouths open in amazement. None of them had ever seen a Space Marine in the flesh, only the inspirational holo-vids and posters that depicted them as one-man armies capable of singlehandedly defeating the enemies of mankind.

The real thing was nothing like what they thought they had known. The four Space Marines were giants, with limbs the size of a grown man's torso. Their blue armour and helmet revealed nothing of their thoughts or intentions. Only the faint clicking of internal vox-systems betrayed the fact that they were communicating with each other.

Gloria was the first to regain her senses and stepped forward:" Hail heroes of Ultramar! We are grateful for your assistance" She said bowing deeply.

With a motion almost too fast to be tracked the lead Marine raised his massive Bolt-gun at the girl, startling her and preventing her from speaking any further. A second Marine produced an Auspex of some sorts and pointed it at the group of scared students, studying the pict-screen intently.

"They are free of taint Sergeant" the Marine said. As one the Astartes lowered their weapons. Sergeant Ezerin removed his helm and let his gaze fall upon the group of students.

"It is good to see that there are yet survivors, we had to be certain of your genetic purity, for the Xenos intruders foul the very air with their presence." The sergeant scanned the surroundings before replacing his helmet, the protective ceramite headgear reconnecting with the neck-seal with the hiss of escaping air.

"Follow us, we will gather survivors in the central dormitory of the Schola Progenium"

Shub stepped forward and addressed the Sergeant: "No disrespect intended Brother-Sergeant Ezerin, I have the utmost faith in the capabilities of a veteran of the Ultramarine 4th Company but the gathering point you propose is hard to defend. It has dozens of ventilation ducts and waste-disposal chutes that will provide easy access to the Tyranids."

The Ultramarine sergeant raised an eyebrow but allowed Shub to continue while the rest of his class merely boggled at his audacity to contradict an Astartes.

"The Schola Tertiary Armoury is only a few minutes away and has only one exit which is protected by a reinforced plas-steel door. If you place survivors there you will not have to spare any of your men to guard us from the inevitable attack."

Ezerin nodded briefly: "You are astute for one of your age, and knowledgeable about Ultramarine heraldry and hierarchy." The sergeant tapped his right pauldron bearing the High Gothic inscription of the 4th Company.

"Your tactical analysis is sound, we shall move to the armoury"

The five Ultramarines fanned out in a protective formation with the students at the centre and marched at a brisk pace.

Alek shot Shub a questioning look but the boy merely shrugged as if this was the most normal thing in the world for him.


	15. Chapter 15 VI The lost year

Chapter 15 VI The lost year of the Academy

**Schola Progenium tertiary Armoury**

The stench of sweat and fear clung to the people packed in the tertiary Schola Progenium Armoury. There were far too many survivors crammed into an enclosed space for comfort but everyone preferred the cramped safety over the terrors that still stalked the hallways of the Academy. A dozen of the adults, Drill-Abbotts and veterans mainly were positioned outside the gate to the armoury, armed to the teeth with automatic rifles, shotguns and stub-revolvers. Despite Shubs advice an Ultramarine had been left behind to defend them. The Astartes stood at a distance from the rest his bolt-gun ready to fire, helmet panning left and right, constantly scanning for danger.

A hundred and ten survivors. That was all that was left of the Schola Progenium after the Ultramarines had swept the complex and rounded up those they found that still lived. A hundred and ten scared and exhausted humans out of several thousand. The Ultramarines were still clearing the compound methodically but chances of finding survivors were decreasing with every passing minute. The Astartes cleared areas ahead ,reinforced and supported by squads of Ultramar army forces that had arrived earlier by shuttle armed with flamethrowers who followed their Astartes superiors cleansing areas from any possible xenos taint.

How fragile we are, thought Shub, that all it takes is one relatively small hostile external force to decimate a powerful and hallowed institution of the Imperium of mankind. Flashes of insight intruded upon his consciousness: fragments of a galactic map depicting various hostile forces intruding upon the Imperial territory. Reports listing Imperial Guard casualties numbering in the thousands, millions even. Eyes shut and face fixed in a grimace he tried to block the flow of information. His mind was playing increasingly vexing tricks with him in these times of stress. He recalled the face of Sergeant Ezerin and thought about the resemblance with his legions Primarch, the strong jawline, the hawk-like nose… This is madness! This was the first time I ever laid eyes upon a Space marine let alone a primarch! Shub pressed the knuckles of his hands, one flesh, and one steel into his closed eyelids trying to block the unwanted thoughts through pain.

"Shub? You all right?" Kel inquired as he worriedly crouched near his friend.

Shub let out a shuddering breath and opened his eyes. Visions still drifted across his retina, a glorious being clad in golden armour, a vast battlefield, and titans stalking between snow-capped peaks. He shook his head, trying to clear it.

"I'm fine Kel, it's just the stress and exhaustion getting to me." The boy glanced at his cybernetic hand "And all the death"

Kel nodded, his expression sombre "I wonder what will happen to us now most of the Academy is gone"

Shub frowned. His friend raised a valid question. With the Schola Progenium in disarray there was little chance of the traditional draft of students.

Each year, on Emperors Day, all students of the Academy would traditionally participate in a series of gruelling tests and competitions to discern their specific aptitudes. Their performance on this day, together with their overall scores, would determine their continued studies at the Academy or their graduation and subsequent posting with one of the Imperium's hallowed institutions. The victors of the feast of the Emperor ascendant were without exception always drafted for positions with high esteem and responsibility and many had progressed to become famous officers in the Imperial Navy, commanders in the Imperial Guard, or dreaded Commissars. Those that did not do as well were often relegated to a position as scribe in the Administratum.

Shub, his friend Kel and his long-time rival Namuth had all been among the top rated students of their year. Despite Academy rules strictly forbidding it many a wager had already been made on the outcome of the feast of the Emperor Ascendant with opinions divided between Shub and Namuth.

"Perhaps tomorrows gathering will explain what will happen now" Shub said. "I hear the Grand Master himself will address the students and staff."

The boy rubbed his temples. Whatever the future held in store for them he hoped it would bring relief from the increasingly strange things happening to him.

**Schola Progenium Central Hall of Academics**

The wizened form of Grand Master Osirian towered over the assembled students and staff of the Ultramar Schola Progenium. His decrepit frame was supported by his aides and the use of a cane. From his position behind an intricately engraved pulpit he had a commanding view over all those gathered in the grand hall. Osirian mentally winced at the way the hall was mostly empty with so many of the Schola's finest dead. He did not, however, allow any of his emotions to become visible. The Schola Progenium and its Grand Master should be above such trivial things as personal connections to the students or mourning. The horrific attack on the Academy had cost them dearly and already the whispers in the hallways spoke of "the lost year" Sure, orphans were a readily available commodity in the Imperium and staff could be replaced in time. But it was the loss of face, the humiliation of being attacked on his home territory that rankled the old man. It would take him years, maybe decades to rebuild his reputation and remove the stain on his otherwise exemplary record as chief official.

"Loyal subjects of the God-Emperor, we are gathered here on this day of the Emperor Ascendant to remember the heroic deeds of those who died fighting for the Imperium." "Each and every one of them is a hero of humanity and an example to those that still live." Although we are diminished in numbers we have emerged greater in strength of spirit and will to fight because of our recent trials."

There was some cheering as machines whirred and powered up projecting a giant representation of the Imperial Aquila behind the Grand Master.

"In order to celebrate our glorious victory over the alien I have ruled that all surviving students of the Academy will receive an honorary graduation and immediate transfer to a posting with one of the Imperium's hallowed institutions."

The Grand Master gazed at the gathered crowd, his countenance just the right mix of sadness and pride.

"Do not fear for you are destined to follow in the footsteps of generations of Schola Progenium graduates who have gone before you to achieve greatness in the name of the Imperium and the God-Emperor. Today marks the end of your time as students and heralds the start of a lifetime devoted to the glory of Terra!"

The crowd applauded enthusiastically even as they whispered among themselves, stunned by this revelation. Students slapped each other on the back, and Academy staff beamed at the smiles and congratulations around them. A hymn sounded through the vox-casters and Grand Master Osirian waved benevolently at the graduates before retiring to his chambers escorted by his assistants and scribes. Dismissing all of them the old man settled down in the chair behind his desk and poured a glass of vintage amasec. He sipped the drink savouring the complex, smoky flavours and subtle balance of bitter and sweet. His gaze fell on the stack of assignment forms, each marked with the official seal of the Ultramar Schola Progenium in red wax and inscribed with the various sigils that carried the authority of the Adeptus Administratum. Leafing through each of the documents assigning a graduate to his or her first posting he paused at one that had given him particular satisfaction to arrange personally.

**Cargo hold of Departmento Munitorum transport **_**"Strength in Numbers"**_

Streams of sweat ran down Shubs forehead and body despite the chilly ambient temperature in the enormous cargo hold of the Munitorum transport. His boots made a rhythmic thumping sound as he completed the final part of his 15 kilometre route through the massive ship. He was wearing standard issue Guard pants coloured dark green, a sweat-soaked shirt and a worn-out flak jacket. He increased his pace as he neared the last obstacle in his training circuit: a stack of crates arrayed to form a barrier that needed to be scaled. He leapt at the 1st crate using his momentum to take him upwards and stretched to grab the edge of the top crate. Groaning under the weight of his gear he pulled himself up, cleared the top and deftly hopped down on the other side.

Checking his chronometer Shub smiled. He had been in warp-transit for 3 months now and had spent every waking moment training his body and mind to prepare for his very first posting. His efforts showed; at 15 years old he was no longer the skinny boy from Wagner but he had matured into an athletically built young man. Most of the other people on the "Strength in Numbers" were Munitorum scribes or deckhands and ratings to unload cargo, so Shub had kept to himself and worked to improve his strength and stamina through rigorous exercise. The ship carried unspecified weapons, ammo, and supplies for some Imperial Guard Regiment stored in towering stacks throughout the main cargo hold that stretched for more than 2 kilometres. The same regiment, Shub surmised, he would be joining when they arrived. Where ever that could be…

Shub knew next to nothing of his destination or the regiment he would be joining. Shortly after the 'graduation' ceremony the students had been handed their encrypted data slates and assignment orders and had been unceremoniously shuttled off-planet to several Munitorum Transports waiting in orbit. He had briefly said goodbye to some of his former classmates, each of them congratulating the other on an exciting adventure ahead: Kel was being sent to train as an officer on one of the Imperial Navy's war ships, Namuth was being transferred to a system in the periphery to oversee the raising of a new regiment while Gloria was scheduled to continue training as a cadet-commissar embedded with an active Imperial Guard Regiment. Shub knew only he was to report to the local Imperial Guard facility where the Munitorum transport was scheduled to deliver supplies. Schola graduates usually ended up as commissioned officers in the Imperial Guard and Shub could only hope his assigned regiment would be one he could identify with.

"Stand by all crew, prepare for translation to real-space in one hour. Return to your quarters or an officially sanctioned translation-safe room, this is not a drill"

A monotonous voice repeated the same message several times before the transmission cut out.

Quickly, Shub headed back to his quarters (a cramped room he shared with a group of deathly pale Munitorum scribes) and stuffed all his belongings in a guard-issue duffel bag. Closing his eyes he prepared mentally for the ordeal of moving from the warp into a 'normal' dimension.

**A system in the Segmentum Ultima**

Exactly at the designated time a great rift opened in space ejecting the pitted grey hull of the Munitorum transport and a small fleet of attendant craft amidst a wave of baleful purple illumination. The old and slow ship maneuvered sluggishly coming to a new heading while smaller escort craft fanned out in a defensive pattern. Ahead lay a planet coloured in ugly shades of brown and green. A single star cast its distant light across both the planet and the _"Strength in Numbers"_ as it approached the planets gravitational well.

Several hours after achieving orbit the first of the Munitorums bulk landers launched to deliver their cargo to the surface. In between the much larger craft a single shuttle launched and headed towards a location much more distant from the main star port that was located on the planets northern continent.

The crafts hull shuddered with the energy of atmospheric re-entry. The roar of powerful engines drowned the cargo bay with a thunderous noise as crates shifted left and right against the lines securing them to the fuselage. Shub checked and double-checked his gear making sure his uniform was suitable for inspection as he sat strapped into a safety harness. A tiny viewport showed only dark grey clouds hurtling past. The pilot had not bothered to inform him of their destination and the only other people on the ship were a pair of servitors equipped for heavy lifting.

A sudden lurch followed by a loud explosion nearly flung Shub from his seat, his safety harness preventing him from being dashed to a bloody pulp against the hull.

"Make sure you are strapped in son, we're coming in hot" the voice of the pilot came in over the on-board vox. The man sounded strained.

The clouds outside suddenly gave way to an apocalyptic vista of churned mud and scorched and shattered woodlands. As Shub pressed his face to the plas-steel viewport he could see angry clouds of black smoke erupt near their ship followed by the loud pang of metal fragments bouncing of the hull and wings. In places the outer plating of the shuttle had been ripped open exposing the interior cabling and hydraulics. The thrusters of the shuttle kicked in as the craft executed a sudden dive and turn.

"30 seconds until landing, make sure you are out and clear in 1 minute, I'm not hanging around." The pilot informed Shub as the shuttle almost plummeted towards the ground. Just moments later the landing gear extended and the shuttles retro-thrusters flared to life shaking both Shub and the pair of servitors who bore the discomfort with their usual stoicism. With a clang! The craft touched down and the cargo hatch lowered.

A wave of hot humid air rolled over Shub filled with a distinctive cocktail of scents: mud, decay, vegetation but predominantly the smell of promethium and the propellant used in artillery and automatic weapons. The servitors mechanically set to the task of unloading the crates as Shub walked out of the shuttle, shielding his eyes against the harsh light of the sun.

The sound of massed weapons fire and artillery resounded in the background as he surveyed the immediate area. The shuttle had touched down on a derelict landing strip apparently located near the frontline of a warzone. A pair of ugly prefab buildings stood several hundred metres away. The immediate area surrounding the airstrip had been cleared of trees and other vegetation by liberal use of explosives and promethium by the looks of it. A small cloud of flies buzzed lazily around his head as a single open-topped truck approached.

Shub saluted smartly as the truck pulled up and a suntanned man in Imperial Guard uniform got out from the passenger's seat while the driver slouched over the steering wheel smoking a Lho-stick. The man wore the insignia of a non-combatant logistics officer and consulted a data-pad that had seen better days while he completely ignored Shub who stood at attention while sweating profusely.

"Guardsman Shub reporting for duty Sir!" Shub said finally to break the uncomfortable silence extending the data pad with his transfer orders.

The logistics officer, seeming to have finally noticed Shub raised an eye-brow inquiringly.

"What do we have here then? A fresh recruit all on his own?" he mocked as he took the data pad.

"I have been sent here by orders of the Macragge Schola Progenium to report to the local Imperial Guard Regiment. I assume I should report to regimental command to introduce myself to the commanding officers, Sir" Shub explained proudly, chin high and chest forward.

"At ease Guardsman" The logistics officer inspected the data-pad making grunting noises while he scratched his neck.

"I see, I see. These files confirm that you are indeed from the Schola Progenium and that you are to report to the regiment."

Shub beamed even though he was thirsty, uncomfortable and still a little shaken from the landing.

"It says here you have been assigned the rank of private and are to report for frontline duty ASAP" The officer grimaced.

Shubs mouth fell open as he attempted to digest the news. "There must have been some sort of mistake, I am freshly graduated from the Academy. I should be attached to the officer corps for further training!"

The logistics officer nodded gravely. "Of course there has been some sort of mistake"

Shub exhaled audibly feeling as if someone had just lifted a weight of his shoulders.

"This is the Imperial Guard, the instrument of war of the Departmento Munitorum: this entire planet is one big friggin mistake if you ask me."

The man straightened his back and his eyes gained a dangerous gleam.

"Your transfer orders are clear though: report for frontline duty ASAP, signed by the Schola Grand Master himself." He eyed Shub mockingly. "Freshly graduated or not, they don't take kindly here to outsiders who don't pull their own weight"

"This transport is leaving for the frontline now to deliver ammo and supplies. I suggest you get your freshly graduated Schola ass on it immediately."

Too stunned to object Shub moved towards the truck where the driver gestured with his thumb to the open cargo area in the back. As he took a seat on a crate the logistics officer threw Shubs duffel bag into the truck, nearly knocking him over while a new series of thunderous explosions in the background rolled across the airstrip.

The sun-tanned man saluted Shub mockingly as the truck pulled up and towards a muddy trail.

"Welcome to Mung, welcome to the Catachan 105th" he shouted.


	16. Chapter 16 VII The definition of hell

Chapter 16 VII the definition of hell

Death was everywhere; in the sound of artillery shells streaking overhead ,in the burnt out wrecks of trucks and chimeras littering the muddy road heading towards the front line, in the smell of decomposing corpses and discharged weaponry, even in the colour of the mud which had taken on a disturbingly red colouration.

The truck plodded through the thick mud as another torrential rainstorm unleashed thick cold droplets of moisture on friend and foe alike. Shub hunkered down in the open-topped cargo compartment of the truck, cold and wet and miserable. He should have known something was off when he was shipped off without any knowledge of his assignment. This was the manner in which the Grand Master had chosen to exercise his antagonistic attitude towards him. Frontline duty with a Catachan infantry regiment, he might as well been sentenced to death. Catachans were notoriously skilled, tough and insular towards outsiders and were consequently put in the most demanding warzones under the most terrible conditions. If he were to have any chance of survival he needed to prove himself. The engine of the truck roared as they crested another hill top, belching out acrid clouds of smoke and Shub allowed his mind to wander and assess his current predicament.

Catachan, a deadly world, a Death world with a capital 'D'. Most who had ever visited the jungle covered planet returned dead or not at all. That human life was even possible was a testament to the incredible fortitude and resourcefulness of the original colonists. Devoid of anything remotely useful the world had turned to its own people in providing tribute to the demanding rulers of the Imperium. Every year regiments of hardy jungle-warriors were sent to fight on distant battlefields in the name of the God-Emperor. These regiments were without exception tough and effective as no man survives to adulthood on Catachan without excelling in the fields of survival, hunting and close combat.

Flashes of thick impenetrable jungle and a group of men stalking a giant scorpion-like creature armed only with large knives. Your knife is your honour, it cannot be given, and it must be earned. Hateful gazes cast at a commissar as he lectures a group of heavily muscled guardsmen about heroism and advancing upon the enemy. Memories of fighting Drill-Abbot Shagtar in the Schola arena using a crouched low fighting stance, open palms striking vital areas for maximum damage…

On and on the information and memories kept coming. Shub had no idea if any of them were his own or where the information originated from; he absorbed, lived and breathed Catachan lore and knowledge until his mind and body felt like they belonged in the deadly jungles of the infamous planet itself.

The rain continued pouring from the angry grey clouds and the swarms of flies increased their harassment as the truck progressed closer to the front. Patches of blasted and broken stumps of trees gave way to rolling hills topped with a thick and vibrantly coloured jungle and the heat grew even more oppressive. The occasional salvo of loud automatic fire in the distance was interspersed with the sound of explosions and the pattering sound of thick rain drops hitting the jungle canopy.

Finally the truck pulled up to a halt. The only thing distinguishing this place from any other along the road in the past hours was a wooden pole rammed into the ground with a sign crudely attached which read ( in poor low gothic ) "This way to the animation programme" with a red arrow pointing downhill into the thickest part of the jungle.

"This is your stop private, get your behind in gear and unload those supplies, I have a schedule you know?" The driver bit at Shub, lighting another Lho-stick from behind the steering wheel. Unloading the crates took only a few minutes and before long the truck had moved on leaving only the smell of Lho-smoke and deep tracks in the mud behind.

Shub stood near the stack of crates, alone and lost. The rain had diminished in strength to the category of tropical drizzle and clouds of steam were rising from the long emerald green leaves of the local flora. His boots stuck to the mud as if it were actively trying to restrain him and his uniform was soaked. A cacophony of chirping insects and exotic birdcalls filled the air as the boy scanned his surroundings for any sign of the Catachans.

A hideously muscled arm slid quietly around his neck, applying pressure as Shub felt the point of something sharp pressed to his ribs.

"You look out of place soldier-boy" a low growling voice whispered in his ear.

The continued pressure on his neck was cutting off the flow of blood to his head and already Shub was starting to feel dizzy.

"Ughh- aahh, transfer... Gahkknghh" Shub managed to croak waving feebly with his data slate in his right hand as he tried to pry open the deadlock with his left hand.

"That's enough Aurum" another voice spoke and immediately Shub was released to fall on his knees in the mud gasping for air as he clutched at his neck.

Squinting against the drops of water that filtered through the cover of the trees he looked up at his assailants.

Five enormous men, ripped with thick muscles and partially covered in mud and leaves stood in a semi-circle around him, each of them was easily 2 metres tall and all of them carried a camouflaged las carbine slung across their backs. Various grenades and power cells were attached to their belts together with some of the largest and most wicked looking knives Shub had ever seen. How they had managed to sneak up on him undetected was a mystery to him as they were easily double his size and weight.

One of the men, wearing a dark red bandana, stepped forward and offered Shub a hand, pulling him upright and out of the sticky mud.

"Sergeant Lex, 4th squad, 3d platoon Company, Catachan 105th" He introduced himself with a friendly yet vaguely disturbing feral grin. "Aurum tends to get a little enthusiastic in his role as squad-recon, no hard feelings I hope?"

Shub glanced at the man named Aurum who shrugged semi-apologetically. If he had wanted he could have easily killed or incapacitated Shub.

"Private Shub, recently transferred Sir, and no hard feelings" he replied saluting the Catachan sergeant. "If anything that was a reminder that I need to pay better attention, our enemies will not be as gentle as your man Aurum."

Lex laughed a deep rumbling laugh and the other Catachans joined in. "Aurum being called gentle, and by a green recruit no less, that's a first"

"Bring the crates and we will get you set up in no time" Shub joined the Catachans as they easily lifted the heavy crates and made their way along a nearly indiscernible trail through the thick foliage. Stumbling every couple of steps Shub tried his best not to show that he was struggling to carry one crate while the other squad members casually carried two each. Fifteen minutes later they arrived at what looked like some form of camp.

Several dozen wooden platforms crafted from logs were raised just above ground level providing a dry base for Guard-issue tents. Groups of similarly clad Catachans loitered around the camp sharpening knives and cleaning las-carbines while a pair of them exchanged punches and kicks in a muddy clearing marked with wooden stakes, viewed by a dozen of their squad members.

Most of the guardsmen ignored Shub while some of them shot inquisitive but not overtly hostile glances his way. Sergeant Lex directed them to put the crates with a stack of others and then led Shub to the two sparring men.

Both were, like all other Catachans, giants of men with a heavily muscled physique and dozens of scars criss-crossing their arms and shoulders. One was younger and quicker while the other man was clearly his senior with streaks of grey in his otherwise short black hair. As Shub waited with Sergeant Lex the younger man lunged for his opponent in the typical Catachan close combat style, barrelling in low and making a grab for his opponent's legs. The older man however did not jump back to dodge the attack but angled forward and used his entire bulk to drop on top of the younger man. A powerful elbow strike to the kidneys produced a pained grunt and within moments the older man had achieved a superior position and was able to rain a hail of punishing strikes on his opponent's body. The other Catachans cheered and after several seconds of being on the receiving end the younger man slapped his hand in the mud signalling his surrender. The victor slapped him on the back and helped him out of the mud.

"We will make a fighter out of you yet Corporal" the grey haired man said cheerfully after which he turned his attention to the recently arrived Shub and Sergeant Lex.

"Lieutenant Drake, it seems we have a new recruit, fresh from orbit." Sergeant Lex reported. He turned to address Shub.

"Shub, meet Lieutenant Drake, CO of 3d Platoon, B Company. The Lt is a great guy if you don't mind getting your ass kicked in sparring occasionally"

Shub gulped awkwardly as the giant officer approached offering a stretched out hand. The man gripped his hand in a handshake that would have most likely cost him several bones and ligaments had it not been a cybernetic limb.

"Welcome to the Catachan 105th private, lemme see what you got in you" The grinning Lieutenant stepped back into the clearing and made a broad gesture.

"Pick your weapon of choice; knife, club, unarmed. Since you're not a Catachan I'll do you the courtesy of not using a weapon myself. Victory by first blood, knock-out, or submission"

The gathered Catachans hooted and cheered while Sergeant Lex grimaced at Shub apologetically.

Shub hesitantly stepped into the muddy clearing, surveying the slick mud and the wooden stakes bordering the make-shift arena. Keeping his gaze locked on Lieutenant Drake he reached for the scabbard on his belt and retrieved his Imperial Guard combat knife. It was a brutal weapon, mass produced to serve as both a multi-purpose tool and as a means to gut enemies in close-quarters fighting.

Still looking his opponent in the eye he tossed the blade in the mud outside the clearing.

"This knife was given to me by the Adeptus Munitorum. It was not crafted by my own hand or earned in battle. I am not yet worthy to use it."

The chatter and cheering subsided as Lieutenant Drake reassessed the young man that faced him.

"Let us fight so the stronger man will prove himself" the Catachan officer dropped into a fighting stance.

"For in strength will we survive and prosper" Shub finished the ritual Catachan salute and raised his arms in a defensive stance, fingers spread like the claws of a predator.

Flies buzzed lazily through the air and insects chirped as the men of B platoon watched breathlessly as their commanding officer and the young off-worlder circled each other in the mud. Focus flowed through the body of Shub, an almost tangible aura of control and power that welled up from his inner most being. Each movement of his legs and lower body oozed balance and he was poised to strike at a moment's notice. The grizzled veteran mirrored his graceful movements with clipped efficient steps, mighty frame ready to strike out. As the two prowled they scanned for an opening; a moment's hesitation, the blink of an eye against a ray of sunlight, the slip of a boot in the mud. After what seemed like an eternity the two suddenly exploded into motion. Two bodies hurtled towards each other in a flurry of striking arms, knees, and elbows. The larger man was far stronger but Shub moved with incredible speed, every turn and twist dodging a blow that would have knocked him off his feet. As he dodged and dived between the powerful attacks he struck out hitting the Catachan in places where nerves clustered close to the skin, where joints were weakest, and where there was relatively easy access to major blood vessels. Individually the strikes would have barely fazed the man but delivered in a continuous series of attacks they took their toll. Soon the lieutenant was breathing heavily and moving with less control.

The gathered crowd had grown silent as the spectacle unfolded. The young man and their veteran officer still exchanging strikes, kicks and blocks at an unrelenting pace. Then Lieutenant Drake launched a devastating hook which Shub dodged. A moment of loss of balance and Shub had darted in, launched himself upwards and caught the Catachans neck in a leg-lock using his entire weight and momentum to apply pressure. The lieutenant turned purple and swatted at Shub ineffectually until he dropped to his knees and slapped his open palm on the muddy floor.

Both Shub and Lieutenant Drake fell prone in the mud gasping for air. Drake stirred first, picking himself up and stretching his limbs. Shub followed soon after. His entire body felt like it was on fire and he knew he was going to wake up to a world of pain tomorrow.

The giant Lieutenant slapped Shub on the back, nearly knocking him back into the mud again and grinned a huge smile. "I like you kid, you fight like a Catachan"

With those words the tension broke and several Catachans slapped Shub on the back causing him to wince every time.

"Thanks Lieutenant, I'm afraid I had you at a disadvantage though." Shub grinned despite the bruises already developing on his body.

"How so private?"

"Well I had the chance to see you fight another first, giving me the opportunity to study your style and weaknesses." Shub explained. "Additionally you already expended quite a bit of energy on your first opponent."

Lieutenant Drake nodded thoughtfully and rubbed his neck absentmindedly.

"You are very fast and skilled for someone your age, I am happy to get some reinforcements that actually look to be adding something to the platoon."

The Catachan motioned for Shub to follow him.

"You will be working under Sergeant Lex in 4th squad." "Lex is a good man but he lost a lot of good soldiers defending this sorry excuse for a jungle."

A series of thunderous explosions shook the ground and several hundred metres ahead fountains of mud, shredded vegetation, and dark smoke erupted from the canopy.

"The enemy is persistent to say the least. They come up to our positions day and night and seem to have no shortage of expendable foot troops."

Drake gestured across the broad ridge forming a natural barrier.

"We have been ordered to hold this position by Regimental HQ so that is what we will do, although our skills are a bit wasted on static defence if you ask me."

Shub watched the ragged tree-line and the many craters as he listened to the Lieutenants summary of the situation. As they talked a group of exhausted Catachans emerged from amidst the exotic foliage. They looked haggard with several bandaged wounds and a vacant stare.

"Who exactly are we fighting Lieutenant? Shub asked as the returning squad passed them offering a tired salute.

Lieutenant Drake picked up a crate of Heavy Bolter ammo and motioned towards the jungle.

"I will let you see for yourself"

The two men, one young and fresh out of the Academy and the other a veteran of more than a dozen campaigns, joined a squad of Catachans as they moved deeper into the jungle in single-file formation. Shub was amazed at the stealth these large men possessed. Even the man equipped with a flamethrower and burdened with a sloshing tank of promethium strapped to his back moved with surprising grace. Shub paid close attention to the way the Catachans planted their feet on the trail, using mostly protruding roots and avoiding any loose branches.

As they progressed further into the jungle the calls of animals subsided and an oppressive air clung to the humid, hot air. Their trail meandered across steep hills and through deep gullies until they finally crested a particularly steep and muddy hill. Lieutenant Drake, looking as if he had just strolled casually along a flat and paved road, halted and whistled a short series of bird-like calls. Seconds later the call was echoed and a pair of Catachan Guardsmen appeared from what Shub could have sworn was a small patch of ferns. The two men saluted the lieutenant briefly, eyed Shub and then slunk back into the ferns blending in with the vegetation and disappearing from sight.

"This is where we have formed the line of defence, it is effectively part of a front-line that stretches for several miles." Drake gestured towards the sleep slope of the hill they had just crested. At the bottom of the hill a patch of torn up mud and burnt vegetation marked a killing-zone before the terrain angled upwards again into another heavily overgrown hill.

Shub noticed a pair of sandbag-reinforced eagle's nests where Catachans manned Heavy Bolters positioned in such a way that they had overlapping fields of fire onto the slope of the hill. Several squads of Catachans has taken up camouflaged positions behind overturned tree trunks, boulders, and other natural obstacles with their las carbines trained on the hill opposite to their position.

Lieutenant Drake dropped the box of heavy bolter ammo with one of the heavy weapons teams and spoke a few words of encouragement before returning to Shub.

"Any moment now private, take position"

As if on cue a series of bestial roars resounded though the jungle followed by the discharge of several salvoes of automatic large calibre weaponry. Shub quickly sprinted forward and slid through the mud into cover next to a pair of Catachans. A hulking green giant appeared at the crest of the opposing hill. The creature dwarfed even the oversized Catachans standing easily 2 and half metres tall. Its heavily muscled frame was covered in a rag-tag collection of thick armoured plates and patches of tough leather. In one hand it carried some form of enormous machine-pistol while the other hand clenched a rusty meat-cleaver the size of Shubs leg. With another roared challenge the Ork unleashed a blast of fire from its Shoota in the general direction of the Catachans before charging down the hillside with great loping strides. Within moments several dozen of its kin joined it in the ferocious charge.

The sound of the war cries in combination with the roar of automatic fire was deafening. After mere seconds the Catachan heavy bolters opened fire unleashing controlled bursts of mass-reactive bolts into the charging enemy. Large chunks of green flesh were ripped off as the explosive rounds sowed mayhem in the Ork advance. With amazement Shub watched as some Orks continued charging even after suffering potentially lethal wounds or missing limbs that had simply been blasted off. Following the lead of the Catachans near him he levelled his Mk. 36 las gun and fired with the rest of the squad cutting into the orks with volley after volley of deadly las energy. Those orks still standing reached the lowest point between the two hills as fountains of mud and flame erupted around them. Strategic placement of mines and tripwires connected to explosives wreaked havoc on the orks who had, by now, lost the majority of their numbers. As the survivors climbed their way up the slope they were cut down by disciplined las fire.

As abrupt as it had started the fighting was over leaving Shub to clutch his las gun as the barrel sizzled and popped from the generated heat.

"Just business as usual private." The Lieutenant said with a grin. "Every few hours they send a bunch of them to senselessly charge our hill and we kill them with relative ease."

Drake surveyed the defensive positions and nodded in satisfaction when he saw that there had been no Catachan casualties.

"Umm... Lieutenant Drake?" Shub inquired hesitantly as he picked up a tremor in the ground. Next to him a patch of ferns trembled ominously despite the absence of a breeze.

"Yes private?" Drake responded. "What is it?"

"Is that thing business as usual as well?" Shub said pointing at the gargantuan metal monstrosity that appeared behind the enemy hill.

Lieutenant Drake muttered several expletives that would have shamed the Bolter off a Sister of Battle and started barking orders for tactical repositioning.

Behind the hill the hideous bulk of a 10 metre tall iron construct revealed itself. Painted in crude variations of black, white and red it smashed any vegetation it encountered with its enormous bulk. A main body seemingly fashioned from randomly attached slabs of armour plating bristled with the barrels of enough automatic firepower to level a small city. One of its metal arms terminated in a series of circular chain-blades large enough to cleave through an Imperial Battle tank. The other mounted an unbelievable array of cannons, machine-guns and rocket-launchers.

The Stompa opened its mechanical maw and a distorted braying sound shook the surrounding area after which it opened fire on the beleaguered Catachans defensive position taking out an entire squad in a veritable storm of ordnance.


	17. Chapter 17 VIII A giant walks the land

**Chapter 17 VIII A giant walks the land**

**Mung western continent, Catachan 7****th**** army group front line, grid location 453**

A thunderous roar and the sensation of wind whipping past brought Shub back to his senses. To his surprise and consternation he found himself hurtling through the air with spots of black still clouding his vision. Staccato gunfire sounded through the jungle as he crashed headfirst into a thick brush. Shaking his head to clear the nausea he gingerly touched his face. It was aching and burnt from proximity to the fiery impact of Ork ordnance. A quick inspection brought a more pressing matter to light: His standard issue Imperial Guard uniform was torn and scorched and a fragment of wood the size of his hand protruded from his thigh. The piece of wood had entered his flesh cleanly, most likely as a result from the explosions splintering trees, and was now lodged right in the thick fleshy part of his quadriceps. Reaching back to his first aid classes in the Academy Shub refrained from attempting to pull it out, as that would most likely cause severe and possibly fatal bleeding if the fragment had severed an artery. Removing his belt and tearing up his shirt he fabricated a makeshift bandage to anchor the object and apply pressure to the wound.

Inspecting his vest of flak-armour Shub noticed it was pretty badly torn up having stopped several other pieces of wood and shrapnel. Gritting his teeth Shub moved to an upright position supporting himself by leaning against a nearby tree. In the distance the looming shape of the Ork Stompa lumbered on pausing occasionally to unleash a salvo of rockets or a gout of flame. The Catachans that Shub could see had dispersed into a spread formation to offer less of an inviting target, sprinting a short distance before halting to fire at the mechanical monstrosity with disciplined volleys of las fire.

The Catachans weapons did little more than damage the Stompas paintwork however, failing to penetrate the thick slabs of iron plating bolted haphazardly to the walker's fuselage. As Shub watched in horror the Stompa swivelled on the spot and the barrels of several automatic weapons fitted on its chest opened fire at a Catachan firing from behind the cover of a tree. The hail of ballistic projectiles was badly aimed and for a moment it seemed as if the Guardsman would miraculously survive but the sheer volume of shots fired caught him in the end, shredding his cover to pulp and tearing up flesh and bone in a bloody red mist.

Through the clouds of smoke and mist Shub could now see the large prowling shapes of Ork warriors approaching through the jungle. Armed with vicious choppas and automatic weapons they hunted for anyone offering a good fight. Feral war cries echoed in tune with the continued noise of automatic weapons fire. The Catachan defensive position had been completely over run.

Spotting a Catachan nearby who was replacing the power-cell on his lascarbine behind the cover of a boulder, Shub ran up to him whilst biting through the pain and whistled to get his attention. Shub recognized him as Fulthar, one of the Catachans from 2nd squad that had picked him up from the truck. The man briefly nodded to Shub to acknowledge his presence and peeked over the edge of the rock to scan for orks.

"Fulthar we need to regroup at the camp, we are being hunted and slaughtered here." Shub breathed heavily. He checked his gear and realized he had lost his las rifle somewhere in the chaos.

Eying him dubiously Fulthar retrieved a stub revolver from a holster and handed it to Shub.

"How do you suggest we tackle the regrouping off-worlder, if we simply fall back we will be cut down by that Ork walker."

Shub mentally reviewed the options; none of their weapons stood any chance of damaging the Stompa and every minute spent here gave the orks more time to find and butcher the pockets of resistance.

"Fulthar where is your squads vox-operator?" Shub asked as the Catachan fired a few bolts of las fire at an ork in the distance.

"Keppel's got the vox, he should be 50 metres to the south, but it will take too long for reinforcements to bring any anti-armour weaponry here" Fulthar responded as he ducked back behind the boulder. A roar of anger bore witness to the accuracy of his shots.

Shub checked his bandage, the fabric was turning dark red as the continued movement put further strain on the injury. "I think I have a plan, cover me on the count of five"

At five Fulthar opened up with suppressive fire and Shub limped to Keppels position as fast as his damaged limb allowed. The Catachan vox-operator looked like he was about to physically pull the person on the other side of the line through the machine. His colourful phrasing and use of anatomically impossible suggestions clearly indicated no help was coming anytime soon.

Panting with a combination of fatigue and pain Shub quickly checked to see if there were any orks near before addressing Keppel: "Keppel you got a line with fire-support at HQ?"

The Catachan shook his head:" I got a line yeah, but there is no way we can accurately call coordinates without getting ourselves plastered in the process"

Shub motioned for Keppel to hand over the portable vox-caster: "I can cover that, give me those two krak grenades and listen up"

After explaining his plan to Keppel the Catachan grabbed Shub by the shoulder, looked him in the eye and nodded grimly before running off to gather the rest of the Catachans.

Attuning himself to his surroundings Shub opened his senses to the smells of the battlefield, the alien grunts of ork warriors, the faintest of breezes moving the trees and leafs, and the sound of the giant ork machine moving ponderously through the jungle. Keying the switch on the vox-caster he dialled the regimental code required to contact the Master of Ordnance.

**Catachan 7****th**** army group HQ, 12 kilometres from the front 12:14 local time**

Nine Earth shaker artillery platforms stood in a perfectly ordered line ready to unleash death on the enemy at a moment's notice. The Catachan crewmembers waited in the shade provided by canvas canopies that shielded stacks of massive 38kg projectiles from the sun.

Close to the battery Captain Ordell, Master of ordnance in charge of the 2nd artillery battalion, assigned to the 7th Catachan army group, sat in a low bunker at his desk, surrounded by a team of aides and vox-operators. His immaculate ivory-coloured number 4 warm weather uniform was festooned with various campaign badges and ornamental decorations and his thick vein-studded cheeks were further decorated by a well-oiled curling moustache.

Unlike the members of the gun crews he was not a native of Catachan but an off-worlder assigned to the Army group by high command. Although he and most of his aides were considered 'outsiders' by most of the Catachans the efficient manner in which the 2nd artillery battalion provided supporting fire had endeared them to the rank and file of the 7th army group.

Captain Ordell was absentmindedly shifting through a stack of requisitioning forms when the Vox-system crackled into life:

"B7 this is 105, C3, request immediate suppression, over" The garbled words of Shub were barely audible through the static and sounds of gunfire in the background.

The vox-operator looked at Captain Ordell for approval before replying:

"105, C3, this is B2-7, immediate suppression, out"

"Grid NK 453215, over" came the firing coordinates over the vox. The sound of an explosion momentarily overloaded the receptors on the receiver causing a burst of white noise.

Captain Ordell grabbed the voxcaster putting him in touch with the gun crews, relaying firing data. Outside crewmen ran to their artillery pieces and adjusted the angle and elevation of their guns to match the requested coordinates. When they were finished the sign was relayed by Ordell to the vox-operator who confirmed coordinates with the forward observer.

"Grid NK 4532215, out"

"One Ork heavy walker, designation Stompa, approx. 40 Ork infantry, dense foliage, danger close, over" came the shouted reply by Shub who sounded like he was running.

"Captain, at this distance we are almost sure to hit the forward observer" one of the aides responsible for targeting data interjected.

Captain Ordell nodded gravely: "Duly noted corporal, I will recommend the Guardsman for valour and a posthumous promotion."

"One Ork heavy walker, 40 Ork infantry, dense foliage, danger close, out" the vox-operator confirmed.

Outside the artillery commander relayed the firing orders and the men moved swiftly to load massive shells fitted with high-explosive payloads.

"V, T, HE in effect, 1 round, over" the message came from the artillery commander and it was relayed to the forward observer.

"V, T, HE in effect, 1 round, out" Shub confirmed. The sound of some form of giant saw grew louder in the background making it harder to understand him over the vox-link.

With a nod and a sweeping gesture of his chain-sword the artillery commander gave the order to fire: nine Earth shaker cannons fired almost simultaneously sending up clouds of dust and producing a thunderous roar that penetrated even the protective head-gear worn by the crewmen.

"Shot, over" the vox-operator confirmed.

"Shot, out" Shub nearly shouted, almost out of breath.

The artillery salvo hurtled through the air in a high trajectory crossing a distance of 9 kilometres in under 7 seconds.

"Splash, over" the vox-operator called when the shells had reached the highest point in their ballistic trajectory and were an estimated 3 seconds out.

"Splash, out" Shub confirmed and after a few moments of the sound of heavy breathing and someone crashing through foliage the vox-connection terminated in static.

**Mung western continent, Catachan 7****th**** army group front line, grid location 453 12:14 local time**

Even as Keppel ran back to organize the tactical retreat of the surviving Catachans Shub was in full motion to act on his plan. It would require him to draw the attention of not only the orks roaming the jungle but of the giant Stompa as well and drawing them away from the retreating Catachans.

Limping from tree to tree he moved closer to the towering abomination that was still levelling tremendous amounts of firepower in the general direction of the retreating Catachans. As Shub crept closer he could hear the wheezing and whining of massive pistons as they powered the infernal machine onwards. The Stompa left a trail of flattened and desolate dirt in its wake, any vegetation or wildlife being mercilessly crushed by its bulk. The occasional hoot could be heard from the machines bowels.

Just as Shub had nearly reached the rear of the machine an Ork popped up from behind a mangled tree trunk. Grinning broadly it hefted its two-handed axe and charged at Shub. Raising his stub revolver Shub fired two quick rounds into the onrushing Ork's body without any appreciable result. Taking aim again he fired a 3d shot that hit the Ork squarely in the left eye causing it to scream in pain and surprise. A fourth shot caught it on the neck, blowing away a chunk of flesh, and the 5th and last shot clipped its skull sending it to the ground writhing in pain. Amazed that the creature still lived Shub quickly moved past it and towards the advancing form of the Ork Stompa.

Priming his first Krak-grenade he calculated the required timing and lobbed it as high as he could. The shaped charge exploded with a large metallic bang, denting an armour-plate on the Stompa's back and soliciting a chorus of angered cries from within. The huge machine ground to a halt and ponderously turned in place.

As the Stompa turned in place Shub relayed the grid coordinates he had memorized by means of vox-caster.

"Hey you overgrown tin can! If you want a proper fight come and get me!" He shouted as the Stompa completed its turn. In one fluid motion Shub primed and hurled his second krak-grenade at the walker's head where it exploded causing superficial damage but more importantly further enraging the Stompas controllers. Shub turned and ran as fast as his injured leg could carry him whilst shouting into the voxcaster.

The Ork walker opened its fanged metallic maw and brayed a wordless challenge before waddling after Shub with giant mechanical steps squashing the wounded ork in the process.

While Shub ran his mind calculated hundreds of variables all meant to culminate in one final moment. The slight breeze, the humidity in the air, the way the slope of the hill angled, the speed at which he neared the next hill where a steep drop would send him into a relatively sheltered gulley.

His lungs burnt and ached for air as he pushed for more speed. "One round, out he could just manage" A quick look over his shoulder gave him just enough warning to dash forward as a circular saw-blade over 2 metres in diameter cut through the air in the spot where had been moments before.

The Stompa brayed again and raised its appendage festooned with various form of Ork artillery. A mob of Orks streamed past its armoured bulk cheering and shouting as they chased their seemingly doomed prey.

"Shot, out!" Shub shouted as he desperately pushed to reach the edge of the slope while several large calibre bullets ricocheted off a nearby rock and caused the ground nearby to erupt in clouds of dirt. A low booming sound could be heard in the distance followed by a high pitched whistling sound increasing in volume and intensity. Only a few more metres separated Shub from the edge of the muddy slope.

Inside the Ork Stompa an Ork overseer cracked his whip across the backs of a group of gretchin who finished loading belts of ammo into the feeder of the oversized Gatling-cannon mounted on the Stompas arm. Slowly but inexorably the multiple barrels of the cannon picked up speed, rotating as the Ork gunner cackled madly. An oversized, primitive target centred on the fleeing form of Shub in the distance and the Ork moved to punch the firing-button.

"Splash, out!" Shub yelled and threw the vox-caster to the ground. With a final burst of energy he leapt towards the descending slope, crashing through several thorny bushes and opening dozens of bloody scratches. The high whistling sound reached a crescendo before the world ended in a maelstrom of fire and thunder.

_The Earth Shaker cannon is the workhorse of the imperial guard big guns. It is neither the gun with the longest range, nor the most powerful. It is however the single most recognizable piece of artillery throughout the Imperium's multitude of wars. Capable of firing standard 38kg shells with a HE (High-Explosive) payload over distances exceeding 12 kilometres; nothing exemplifies the anonymous outrage and hatred of the Imperium more than a brutal and unforeseen death by Earth Shaker bombardment._

A total of nine artillery shells impacted grid location NK 4532215 in a box pattern spread over approximately a 100 by 100 metre area. True to Shubs perfect calculations, adjusted for every variable that influenced ballistic trajectory, the salvo landed right on target ripping into the Ork Stompa and in the area around it. The micro-second delay in the munitions simple but aggressive machine-spirit caused the HE warhead to detonate after it had penetrated the outer layer of armour. The sudden expanding ball of superheated, pressurized air sent the searing hot fragments of the warhead outwards turning the interior of the Stompa into a bloodbath. Surplus ammo and fuel tanks detonated, adding their destructive potential to the inferno and within the span of a heartbeat the built up pressure and heat had fried the Stompa's jury-rigged power core causing it to explode spectacularly and flattening the trees in a large radius around it.

The remaining shells buried themselves in the ground before detonating and earning their nickname of 'Earth Shaker' shells. Orks were ripped apart by the blast wave and flung into the air like leaves in a storm. Mud and chunks of scorched earth fountained high into the earth covering everything in a mixture of debris and ork remains.

The massive shockwave of over pressurized air roared overhead missing him by mere seconds. Despite being spared the brunt of the explosion Shub blacked out as he slid down the muddy slope, the wooden stake in his leg ripping free and causing massive haemorrhaging. The very air was sucked out of his lungs by a combination of injury to his ribcage and lack of air as the inferno raging around the destroyed Stompa voraciously consumed oxygen. His young body twisted and turned as it continued down the hill before finally coming to a stop in a pool of mud.


	18. Chapter 18 IX Picking up the pieces

I would like to thank everyone for their reviews and generally positive comments. I have a bit more time at the moment and am able to publish more chapters. Hopefully i can add another 3-4 chapters in the next 1-2 weeks. Are their specific things you would like to see/know in this story? If so leave a review and your request and i will see what i can do :)

Chapter 18 IX Picking up the pieces

**Mung, Imperial Command Centre**

General Gwendolyn Elsepeth, commander of the Catachan 7th Army group paced around the stainless steel floor of the tactical room with her hands clasped behind her back. Her cybernetic left leg, though of the highest possible craftsmanship, still caused her discomfort, especially in this humid tropical weather. Her crisp and functional general's uniform bore few medals and commendations favouring functionality over panache. General Elsepeth was a woman well over a century old even though extensive treatments and surgery left her with the appearance of a healthy 40-year old. As a veteran of over 16 different theatres of war she bore her scars proudly. The faint outlines of a diagonal scar traced her patrician features slashing from the right side of her forehead to the left bottom of her chin. Her grey-blue eyes spoke of an iron will and her perpetual frown promised a matching temperament. Her Dark brown hair was braided in the style of the warrior-clans of Ourbatos, her home system.

Only the clipped measured pace of her steps and the way she abruptly turned before walking the same stretch of floor again betrayed her disapproval with the gathering of Army staff and advisors. Three Catachan colonels and their senior officers were present, looking very much out of place in their combat-gear. The men looked as if they could return to the front at any time and most likely they would as soon as they were allowed to return to their regiments. But besides towering over General Elsepeth physically they showed her a healthy dose of respect as she was infamous for her anger and one who was well accustomed to the horrors of battle and the burden of command.

A group of aides festooned with cybernetic enhancements and data-slates constantly monitored incoming transmissions and updated the holographic display dominating the centre of the tactical room. In the back row a representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus stood, his facial features mostly hidden by a thick crimson coloured, hooded robe. The tech-priest exchanged nearly inaudible packets of binary chatter with two servitors attending it.

A commissar clad in the iconic black leather greatcoat and cap stood with his arms crossed, inspecting all those present. His head and neck were covered in horrible burn marks and one of his eyes had been replaced with a bionic construct utilizing a red lens that whirred and clicked audibly as it shifted focus.

At the far end of the room a row of cogitators housed a quintet of servitors hardwired into their workstations. Being merged into the machinery from the waist down the pale machine-man constructs worked tirelessly, monitoring screens and auspex reports.

The holographic projector itself was an ancient mechanical work of art, painstakingly engraved with micro-prayers to the Omnissiah. It projected a 3-dimensional representation of the Mung theatre of operations with different icons and symbols representing both Imperial and Xenos forces.

_The planet of Mung was the primary planet of the Mung system, a backwater system located in the Ultima Segmentum, relatively close to the warp-route connecting the Death World of Catachan with the rest of the Segmentum. Being comprised of mostly tropical jungle and oceans with very little in mineral wealth it had primarily been used as a resupply point for naval detachments and cargo ships. Only a minor presence of human colonists had established itself, predominantly near the more temperate poles._

_A moderately sized orbital docking facility regularly housed a handful of Imperial ships taking in fresh water and produce harvested from the bountiful forests below. For centuries the planet made its slow orbit around the systems twin suns without any form of conflict, blessedly free of the many wars that ravaged the rest of the Imperium._

_All that changed in 998M41 when a large misshapen asteroid erupted from a rift in the warp dangerously close to Mungs gravitational field. The orbital stations defensive turrets locked onto the object and opened fire within minutes sending bright lances of energy streaking through the void to cut searing holes in the approaching asteroid, damaging it but unable to divert its course._

_The captains and crews of the trio of cargo ships and the Imperial frigate "Dagger of light" currently docked at the orbital station rushed to power up their engines and engage evasive action but were too slow as the massive 16 kilometre long asteroid hurtled onwards on a collision course. To the horror of every onlooker the Rock opened up enormous hatches revealing a deadly array of cannons and beam weapons which opened fire sending hab-block sized shells exploding in the midst of the Imperial facility. Structural integrity was immediately compromised as outer plating ruptured, whole decks were shorn in two and thousands of crew died when they were sucked into the deadly void. _

_The asteroid, now revealed as a dreaded Ork Rokk, clipped the station smashing it into thousands of pieces, crippling the docked ships, and cartwheeled into the atmosphere of Mung. _

_As the outer layer glowed with the heat of atmospheric re-entry the first desperate calls for aid were sent out by Mungs local astropathic choir._

_The Ork Rokk impacted in the midst of the verdant jungle of Mungs western continent tearing a 12 mile long gauge in the planet's surface. So powerful was the impact that it set of a series of volcanic eruptions in the nearby region filling the air with black smoke. As the planet reeled from the violent arrival the first greenskins emerged from their crashed abode squinting against the harsh sunlight eager for a fight._

_The Orks had arrived on Mung._

_Being relatively close to the incursion the call for aid was first answered by the Death World of Catachan. A locally formed army group was put under the command of General Gwendolyn Elsepeth and dispatched to Mung in all haste._

_The core of the 7__th__ Catachan army group was formed by the 105__th__, 83d and 172__nd__ Catachan infantry regiments led by veteran colonels Ales, Gebraim, and Banin. The force was further supplemented by the Catachan 22__nd__ Armoured Regiment whose formations of Leman Russ tanks were commanded by the infamous Colonel "Panther" Inzang and finally a mixed detachment of Catachan support forces consisting of batteries of Earth Shaker artillery, a battalion of Hydra Flak-tanks, and a full squadron of Hellhound flame-thrower tanks. Following in the wake of this formidable armed response came thousands of Munitorum scribes, menial labourers, auxiliary staff, advisors and liaisons to the various monolithic imperial institutions as well as a sizeable delegation of Tech-priests to watch over the sacred technology._

_After making landfall on Mung the Catachans swiftly established a base of operations and moved to contain the Ork threat. _

_Mobs of ork boys swarmed out of the crashed Rokk by the thousands, eager for a good scrap after spending months contained in a rock hurtling through the warp. Like an infestation they spread across the jungle and soon fighting erupted across a front several miles wide._

_The Catachans however, despite being outnumbered, were masters of jungle warfare. Making optimal use of terrain and booby-traps they turned the forests surrounding the crashed Rokk into a nightmare. So it came to be that the two armies ground to a bloody stand-off in the steaming jungles of Mung as light infantry from both sides poked and prodded the enemy lines to find a weakness._

_Being unable to make optimal use of their armour the Catachans were forced to keep their Leman Russ tanks in reserve while the Orks had thus far not deployed any significant heavy weaponry. This was about to change though…_

A series of red lights winked into being on the holographic display signifying enemy contact. The nearby patches of green marked with Catachan unit designations flickered as status updates and projected casualty numbers flooded in.

"We have been caught unaware by the Ork heavy armour as if we are a group of Sororitas nuns selling recaf and cookies!" General Elsepeth barked through gritted teeth.

"We have been planet-side for five frakking months and none of you managed to inform me that apparently the Orks have a sizeable force of heavy armour and walkers?"

The gathering of Military aides maintained a painful silence, no one wanting to draw the unwanted attention of the furious General.

"Gebraim, give me an update" she commanded as she addressed the Colonel of the 83d Catachan Infantry regiment.

"Ma'am, the 83d and 105th are currently being engaged across the entire front by a mix of Ork infantry mobs supported by crude tanks and walkers. We are consolidating our defensive line 1 mile to the east where the jungle has been cleared and we have an open line of fire to their armoured assets. Casualties are high but our men will hold the line." The Colonel responded in a matter of fact tone.

General Elsepeth paused to study the holographic rendering of the battlefield before speaking again: "They had better Colonel, your Catachans were caught with their pants down. I expect the 83d and 105th to hold the line at all cost and I am sending Commissar Jorgen to personally maintain discipline."

The black-clad Commissar nodded his approval as his judging gaze fell on the Catachan Colonels.

"Banin, how is the advance on the left flank proceeding?" the general inquired as she stooped to check the left side of the 3-D battlefield.

On this side the light representing Catachan forces had advanced beyond the frontline and were making their way deeper into the vast overgrown valley where the Ork Rokk had come to a stop.

The indicator runes attached to the Catachan 172nd regiment glowed a relatively benign orange indicating light casualties.

"Ma'am, the 172nd are advancing further into the valley and encountering light resistance, mostly light infantry, nothing our flamers can't handle." Colonel Banin stated.

"Nevertheless, I want you to keep the supply-lines open and get more anti-tank weaponry to you men as fast as possible. If Ork armour is showing up at the front you can bet your life on it there will be armour hidden in that valley as well." General Elsepeth ordered.

She moved around the table to the opposite side where she gestured at a glowing section of the display.

"Colonel Inzang is personally leading a strike-force of Leman Russ tanks around the valley to this location; intelligence indicates the slope is less severe here and it offers the only viable way into the valley for our armoured assets."

Motioning to the front-line again she made a sweeping movement with her arm and the dotted line indicating the frontline shifted slowly towards the Ork-held valley.

"Once Colonel Inzang is in position, the 83d and 105th will advance behind a creeping barrage of artillery fire towards the Ork positions. The 172nd will continue deeper into the valley to outflank them and cut off their supply-routes. Once we have the momentum Colonel Inzang will advance forming the hammer that smashes the orks on the anvil formed by the combined infantry."

A large green arrow designating the Catachan armoured taskforce moved towards the green barrier of Imperial infantry catching the xenos forces in between.

"Is everything clear?" General Elsepeth inquired as the holographic simulation concluded.

The assembled officers and staff confirmed their assent and started relaying orders to their aides to set the plan in motion.

"That will be all then, set to your tasks, the Emperor protects" She finished, turning to leave the room.

"Might I have a moment of your time Lady General?" the Commissar spoke in a low sibilant voice totally at odds with his appearance.

The general waved her permission.

"Word has reached me that a guardsman from the 105th was responsible for calling down an artillery strike on his own location resulting in the destruction of a large band of Orks and one of their heavy walkers." Jorgen studied his data-slate.

"This is the kind of behaviour we need more off in the Imperial Guard; total disregard for personal safety in order to achieve the destruction of the enemies of the Imperium."

General Elsepeth nodded.

"I would like to enact a promotion and commendation for bravery for said Guardsman, posthumously naturally. No one could have survived an artillery strike at that range." Jorgen continued.

"I agree, Jorgen. Make it happen and make sure the troops know about it: this will be a nice boost for morale before we push the offensive"

With those words the general marched off leaving the assembled staff to enact her commands.

**Mung Western continent, the front-line.**

The stench of burning promethium and residual explosives permeated the air. Thick black smoke snaked upwards from the dozens of small fires that blazed throughout the jungle. Very little vegetation had survived unscathed and pieces of wreckage from the destroyed Stompa littered the area.

Private Aurum and Sergeant Lex moved cautiously through the area scanning for any sign of surviving Orks. Thus far they had only found pieces of Ork flesh strewn about and the occasional bits of machinery. The artillery strike had totally devastated the area leaving no Orks alive.

Carefully Aurum pushed aside a partially burned fern with the barrel of his las carbine revealing a pool of mud and its occupant.

"Sarge!, I found him!" he called out rushing to the battered form of the young man lying half submerged in the brown sludge.

Sergeant Lex came crashing through the foliage, wincing when he saw the state Shub was in.

"Is he still alive?"

"Barely Sarge, but he's breathing. We need to get him to a medic ASAP"

Within minutes the remainder of Sergeant Lex's squad had carefully placed Shub on a makeshift stretcher and moved to get him to a field hospital.

**105****th**** Infantry regimental field hospital**

The drab grey prefab building stood in the middle of the regimental compound which was protected by armour-plated walls and guard towers mounted with twin-linked Heavy Bolter turrets. The majority of the regimental Head Quarters had been flown in straight from orbit by heavy Munitorum landers. The Munitorum shuttle-jockeys joked they could fly in a fully functioning regimental compound in the time an average officer used to pick his uniform.

Inside the field hospital rows of beds held wounded and dying Catachans. Despite their sometimes horrific injuries the death-worlders bore their suffering in stoic silence. A military battlefield surgeon, his gear splattered with blood stains exited the door leading to one of the operating theatres shaking his head in disbelief.

"The speed of recuperation is simply amazing, it is beyond anything I have ever seen."

The military battlefield surgeon deposited his medical tools in a stainless steel tray and removed his bloodstained gloves. He glanced at the waiting Catachan officer as he washed his hands before drying them thoroughly.

"I mean, your boy here is 100% human in an anatomical sense, but someone must have tampered with his genetics because no normal man could have suffered those injuries and lived"

The surgeon consulted a medical file.

"Torn artery in upper leg due to foreign object lodged and consequently ripped loose, internal bleeding due to exposure to over pressurized air, multiple fractures in shoulder, pelvic bone, and ribs. Punctured lung, severe concussion, blood-loss, 2nd degree burns on neck and chest, two dozen pieces of shrapnel removed."

The man looked up from his file and reached for a canteen of water.

"Sergeant, this private Shub of yours is a medical miracle. I did all I could but to be honest his body was already mending most of the worst injuries. I can't even start to say anything about his further recovery; his regenerative powers could put an Astartes to shame."

Sergeant Lex scratched the back of his head.

"So what you're basically saying Doc, is that Shub here is some form of Space Marine?"

The Surgeon nearly spit out the mouthful of water he just imbibed.

"No Sergeant, he is not a Space Marine. Look I'm not an expert on Astartes physiology but I do know that all Space Marines are much, much larger. Additionally they have extra organs in their bodies to provide them with all sorts of benefits. Twin hearts, fused ribcage, hormonal glands; Shub has none of those things."

Sergeant Lex grinned and slapped the surgeon on the back.

"Well Doc, I'm just happy he's going to pull through. The kid took a huge risk to give the rest of us a chance to regroup. I hear even the top brass at Army command took notice. They are calling him a genuine hero."

Lex saluted the surgeon smartly and made for the exit of the field hospital. The surgeon consulted the files again, shook his head and proceeded to make his rounds to inspect the other injured Guardsmen in the facility.

**Tent-camp near the mustering fields outside regimental HQ 3 days later**

The giant one-eyed Catachan approached Shub with an intimidating feral grin. With a tiny shudder of revulsion Shub noted that the man had filed his teeth into razor-sharp triangular fangs.

"Hold him still will you?" One-eye rumbled as he lifted a needle-like blade dripping some vile back liquid towards the object of his attention.

Two pairs of muscular arms increased their stranglehold on Shub further pinning him down and preventing any escape.

"I swear Shub, for a genuine hero you sure are squeamish" The voice of Sergeant Lex interjected. He increased pressure to make absolutely sure Shub couldn't move an inch. Aurum chuckled and shifted his grip as well to assist Lex.

With incredible finesse One-eye drew the tip of the needle across the skin of Shubs shoulder, forming the outlines of a skull in black ink. Retrieving a second needle he applied detail and red colouration and the stylized high gothic numerals reading '105th' After checking the edges and lines he sat back and observed his work.

"Done! Now that wasn't too bad was it?" One-eye pulled the cork of a bottle, took a swig of the contents and poured a measure over the recently finished tattoo. Shub winced as the alcohol bit into the fresh wound. Taking the bottle he was offered he sniffed at it cautiously before taking the smallest of sips. As far as he could tell it was either some form of Catachan liquor or industrial grade rocket fuel.

Thanking the old Catachan again Shub, Lex and Aurum exited the tent into the harsh sunlight of high noon on Mung. Shub stretched his arms and legs and basked in the warmth of the sun. It was good to be up and moving again after being confined to the field hospital for 3 days. Apparently he had sustained injuries during the engagement with the Orks but they couldn't have been that bad if he was released after only a couple of days of rest.

In fact he felt better than ever as he proudly inspected his regimental tattoo designating him as an adopted Catachan. Only some light scarring remained from the burns and cuts he had sustained. His hair had been shaven clean off which, combined with his piercing grey gaze and increasingly athletic build, gave him the bearing associated with a professional soldier. He was wearing a replacement set of Catachan-style jungle uniform with a flak-vest, las carbine and several grenades at his belt. A scabbard at his belt carried a large shard of metal they had found near the burnt out wreckage of the Ork Stompa. He was keeping it to see if he could fashion it into a blade.

Sergeant Lex turned to the two other men, his tone serious: "Well, playtime is over. Time to report back at the front. There's something big planned and the Captain wants the 105th ready to move tonight."

**The crashed remains of the Ork Rokk in the heart of the Ork infested jungles**

The interior of the Rokk was like the belly of some gargantuan mechanical beast. Vast caverns were partially collapsed and broken beams and shorn power cables lay scattered everywhere. The impact had shaken loose most of the interior deck-plating and many walls were still covered with the remains of Orks and snotlings ground to a bloody pulp.

Yet the Orks are a hardy race: thousands upon thousands of them had survived and were now industriously tearing apart the Rokk from the inside. Every piece of metal or machinery was ripped loose or blasted from its place and transported to one of the larger central caverns. Trains of carts laden with every piece of scrap to be found were pulled by snotlings and pulley systems transported ore and wood to fuel the hellish forges burning inside the Rokk.

In the largest of the central caverns a throne of iron and steel was positioned to oversee the hundreds of Orks welding and bolting, hammering and oiling, fitting and folding. In that throne sat the largest Ork of all. If he could still be called an Ork. Warboss Tuzla was a monster of an Ork, standing over 4 metres tall and towering over his retinue of Nobz. His already considerable height was enhanced by the simply massive suit of armour fashioned from the salvaged remains of dozens of suits of power and tactical dreadnaught armour. His fists were encased in large adamantine gauntlets that crackled with barely contained coils of blue energy. Mounted on his shoulders were an array of large calibre and energy weapons slaved to a sensor mounted in his huge ornamental helmet fitted with the downward curving horns of some goat-like creature.

Tuzla sat slavering with hunger for battle, thick goblets of spit spraying from his maw as he shouted orders. He commanded tens of thousands of Orks but that was not how he had gotten to be such a successful warlord. No, his genius lay in the appliance of Ork ingenuity in fabricating every kind of ramshackle vehicle ever known to Ork-kind( and some even he did not know the purpose of )

In the vast cavern that stretched before his throne row upon row of Battlewagons, Trukks,War-buggies, Killa Kans and Deff Dreads were being finished and fitted with the final coats of red paint or additional spikey parts. His first wave of Ork boyz had done a nice job keeping the humies busy for a while but it would soon be time for the proper fighting to start.


	19. Chapter 19 X Walk the walk

Chapter 19 X Walk the walk

**The jungles of Mung, just before midnight**

Night in the jungles of Mung was just as bad as daytime. Arguably it was even worse: the heat was still oppressive, the humidity in the air as high and it was dark, pitch-dark. As dark as any night Shub had ever seen. Although little could be seen there was no shortage of sounds; a cacophony of insect and birdcalls, the rustling of leafs in a barely noticeable breeze, the dripping of water onto the ground as it pooled and spilled over from the canopy overhead.

In total silence Shub crept, no stalked, across the jungle floor. His movements were slow and purposeful in order not to step on any branches or move nearby foliage that could give away his position. Even though he was naturally stealthy and had picked up a lot from the Catachans he still sounded like a ratling in a pastry shop compared to the rest of his squad who were spread out in an advancing pattern around him.

A short clicking birdcall followed by two more in rapid succession. The call for enemy sighted, not yet engaged.

Checking his las carbine for the last time and making sure no part of it was uncovered by the black soot he had used to reduce any chance of light reflecting off metal, Shub crept towards the place where he had heard the call. More sensing the presence of the man than actually seeing him Shub crouched and waited for the report.

Appearing more like just another piece of vegetation than a 2 metre tall Catachan Guardsman, the motionless form of Scout Aurum lay concealed perfectly in the darkness. Only the slightly denser swarms of mosquitoes near his head gave away his location to Shub.

"Four greenskins, moving towards our lines" Aurum signalled, tapping Shub softly on the knee to soundlessly relay the info in Catachan battle-cant.

Shub nodded and shouldered his las carbine. Making a circling motion with his left hand he finished with a cutting gesture with his right hand across his throat. Slowly and careful not to make any sound he pulled his blade from its scabbard. The weapon was an oddly curved and serrated piece of metal about as long as his forearm, coloured black and fitted with a minimal cross-guard. Shub had forged it himself from a single fragment of the Ork Stompa he had helped destroy. In the age old tradition of the Catachans he had named it "_Ender_"

Aurum produced another series of bird-calls, this time longer and more complicated and was soon rewarded by a series of echoing calls nearby.

Moving with a light step Shub advanced towards an increasing source of noise ahead. Bestial grunts and snapping branches betrayed the location of his prey. As he inched closer he could make out fragments of Ork conversation and swearing and he timed each of his movements to coincide with a peak in noise.

Suddenly the sound of a branch snapping in two drew the attention of the four Orks, their porcine faces swinging in the direction of the place Aurum had been moments before. Hefting their cumbersome firearms they immediately moved in to check it out when suddenly a salvo of high-powered las shots erupted from the darkness and hit the Orks causing them to curse and shout but failing to do any lasting damage. With a roar the orks opened fire with their shootas sending a withering hail of fire into the dark of night. A fountain of shell casings hit the forest floor and the smell of cordite suffused the air.

Making use of the cover of the noise Shub slipped closer to the xenos who were even more intimidating from up close. The orks were easily two heads taller than him despite their hunched posture. The thick cabled muscles on their arms and shoulders vibrated with the fierce recoil of their automatic weapons as they kept firing blindly. Making a running leap Shub propelled himself at the nearest ork, a particularly foul smelling brute, and caught himself as he landed on its back. With a powerful downward thrust he rammed _Ender_ into the orks throat, angling downwards to sever both the windpipe as well as some of the major arteries and nerves. Using the ork as a platform he grasped the hilt of his blade with two hands and launched himself backwards again, pulling out the serrated black metal and causing terrible damage to the greenskin. The ork, already dead, toppled forward, his thick fingers still clutched around the trigger of his firearm, and sent a wide arc of automatic fire into the sky before finally the ammo-hopper of his gun clicked empty.

Next to it the other three orks suffered a similar fate as Catachan shadows emerged from cover and swiftly dispatched their foes with deadly blades.

Breathing heavily Shub cupped his hands near his mouth and called the 'All clear' signal, a low warbling sound reminiscent of a frog or toad. In quick succession the call was echoed and after mere moments the rest of the squad emerged from cover.

"That's the last of their forward scouts" Sergeant Lex said as he wiped the sticky ork blood off his blade with a leaf.

Shub nodded and scanned the surrounding jungle. "No sign of ork armour or walkers?"

Aurum tossed his blade in the air and deftly caught it again while chuckling softly: "If there had been any we would have heard them from a mile away. Greenskins are not known for their stealth"

"All right squad, enough chatter. Prep the bodies and let's head back for the night." Lex commanded.

Quickly the Catachans searched the orks for any grenades, explosives, or spare ammunition. Placing these in packed heaps they carefully positioned the corpses over them and added a primed frag-grenade fitted with a release mechanism set to detonate 2 seconds after the weight of the ork had been removed. This created a simple but effective booby-trap that would shower the surrounding area in a deadly hail of shrapnel if any of their kin tried to loot the corpses.

"Knock out a few of their teeth and place them partially under the body but in sight" Shub whispered to the others as he lay the finishing touch to the trap he was working on.

"Orks use their teeth as a form of currency and no Ork will pass up the chance to easily pick up a few"

The other Catachans nodded their assent and quietly finished their work.

**Catachan 105****th**** regimental field camp 6 hours later**

Still a bit groggy from the nightly patrol Shub awoke to a camp bustling with excitement and activity. Pausing only briefly to relieve himself he quickly reported to the Company command-post where his unit would receive further instructions. Exchanging short nods of acknowledgement with familiar people he joined the ranks of Catachans waiting for the briefing to commence. A raised wooden platform with a banner proudly flying the colours of the 105th Infantry had been erected near the exit of the tent housing the Company commander. In the front row he spotted Lieutenant Drake together with the other platoon commanders as they discussed various operational issues.

After only a few minutes of waiting the flaps of the command tent were pushed aside and Major Gander emerged flanked by a pair of military aides carrying tactical maps and reports. Major Gander was something of a legend in the was the closest a Catachan could get to being corpulent with a thick layer of fat covering his massively muscled body. He sported a full beard and matching moustache with the result being a man with an almost overpowering physical presence. He was well known to personally lead troops into battle, as was expected off any Catachan, and he wielded his enormous sword with consummate skill.

Gander mounted the platform and the wooden boarding creaked ominously under his massive weight, leading to several chuckles from the Platoon commanders and an apologetic shrug from the Major. Gander was in his heart a trooper and he encouraged an atmosphere where men could take a jab at each other without fear of official reprisal.

"B Company, we have been crawling through the mud, burnt by the sun, assailed by parasites and attacked by vicious xenos intent on disembowelling us. We are outnumbered, low on supplies, and it looks like we are about to set off on a trek through the jungle that may last for weeks if not months."

Gander cleared his throat and looked around.

"Hell, it feels almost like home!"

The assembled Catachans cheered and hooted and someone in the back yelled: "At least the trees haven't tried to eat us! Yet!" Which was followed by a round of laughter.

Gander motioned the crowd to silence.

"Lads, in all honesty, in 2 hours we are advancing on the enemy together with the boys from the 83d."

"The old lady has insisted that we push all along the front into the ork-held valley."

"The good news is that we will have artillery support. We will be advancing behind a timed creeping artillery barrage." "The bad news is General Elsepeth is sending her lapdog, Commissar Jurgen and his leather-clad goons to 'properly motivate' the infantry."

"I know how you all feel about commissarial involvement but I do NOT want any 'friendly fire' incidents."

Gander surveyed his men proudly with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.

"We march in one hour, B Company will be taking the left flank supporting the central advance of A company while C Company covers the right. D company will be held in reserve for now. Fight hard and fight well. The Emperor protects"

**Emeriss, Grand hall of the Academy**

Hundreds of children stood quietly in their robes of mourning, the ivory cloth of their formal wear blending harmoniously with the colour of the marbled floor leading up to the raised pedestal displaying the body of the recently deceased Grand Master. A pair of libitinarii adepts flanked the beautifully wrought iron casket swinging censers filled with holy incense as they chanted the ritual appeasements to the newly departed spirit. In front of the funeral setting a group of the most senior Schola staff stood arrayed in their robes of office wearing porcelain masks crafted in the likeness of already deceased elders of the Ossirian family.

Outside, the bells of the Schola Progenium tolled in deep mournful tones that echoed through the empty halls and corridors. Empty but for two men walking through one of the recently restored gardens.

One of the men was clad in the brown robes of a Ministorum cleric. His gait was youthful and full of energy but the scars and weathered lines of his face betrayed his true age. A pair of twinkling brown eyes a firm chin and thin lips gave him an air of petulancy at odds with his otherwise clerical appearance.

The other was more giant than man, towering over the other by almost a full metre. Clad for the occasion in a non-descript robe of aquamarine and grey his outfit did little to hide his heritage as a son of Roboute Guilliman. Although unarmed he nevertheless projected an almost palpable aura of violence.

"Inquisitor, with all respect, the surviving Schola students have been scattered across the galaxy and the documents containing the relevant data purposefully destroyed. Any chances of ever finding a single young man amongst the untold billions died with the passing of Grand Master Osirrian."

The Ultramarines voice was a deep baritone more used to the din of battle and the rumble of tanks.

A deep frown clouded the smaller man's face as he replied:

"Yes, it seems the academic miscreant is determined to cross me, even from the grave. Had he not died of the wasting illness he so conveniently kept hidden, I would have enjoyed sending him off into the Emperors embrace myself."

Inquisitor Francis voice was bitter and filled with resentment. As a representative of one of the most feared institutions of mankind he was not used to being thwarted. The mighty Astartes kept pace with Francis taking a single measured step for every few smaller ones of the inquisitor as he spoke again.

"The debriefing of Sergeant Ezerin was clear though: The boy showed remarkable powers of observation and his knowledge of archaic and obscure knowledge is unparalleled. My master and I are worried about the implications of such accelerated development at so young an age. You are treading in the footsteps of giants and a wrong step might bring ruin to the Imperium."

"Brother-Captain Ventris, your misgivings are duly noted but I will find this boy even if I have to personally interrogate each and every one of the Academy staff. Too much is at stake here."

The Ultramarine stopped and bowed before addressing the inquisitor:

"As you wish inquisitor, my companies Strike Cruiser is in position above Emeriss and one of our brother Librarians is ready to assist you in your search."

Inquisitor Francis looked into the eyes of Captain Ventris, his gaze filled with the fire of determination: "

"Let us proceed swiftly; I fear what might happen if young Shub is not found soon."

**The jungles of Mung, 0 hour**

The full military might of two Catachan infantry regiments stood ready to advance. Each of the regiments had formed a staggered line formed by four companies in a diamond formation. Within each company the five different platoons were responsible for their own segment of the line. With each platoon numbering around a hundred Catachans the entire push saw over four thousand hardened jungle fighters ready to take the fight to the orks. Along a front of five kilometres men checked weapons and ammo and waited for their orders.

Precisely on time the massed Earth Shaker artillery of the 7th army group commenced their bombardment. Making use of the ancient wisdom of the Tactica Imperialis they launched what was commonly known as a 'creeping barrage'

_As old as the invention of projectile weaponry and cannons the creeping barrage was a staple of the Imperial Guard. The theory was simple and brutal. Infantry would form up into a line and artillery would start firing their shells in a similarly positioned line two to three-hundred metres in front of the infantry. The line of artillery fire would then slowly creep forward at a pace that could be matched by the advancing infantry. The opposing infantry would ideally still be reeling from the bombardment and unable to react to the incoming offensive. The reality was even more brutal yet undeniably effective. Orchestrating both the simultaneous advance of thousands of Guardsmen in a straight line and making sure the Artillery barrage went neither too fast, negating any tactical advantage, nor too slow, causing the own ground forces to walk into their own artillery fire, was a tremendously difficult job requiring everyone involved to function at the peak of their capacity. Friendly fire casualties reaching up to 5% were considered acceptable._

The slow rhythmic thumping sound of heavy guns firing was followed by the screaming of incoming shells and the roar of detonation. As Shub made his way through the shattered jungle and climbed shattered tree trunks he could smell the pungent odour of ballistic chemicals and scorched earth. To his left and right his fellow Catachans similarly made their way through the blasted terrain. So far their progress had been unimpeded and the barrage had been accurate sparing them the horrors of friendly fire.

"Contact! 20 metres!" The Catachan to Shubs right called out as he kneeled to bring his las carbine into a firing position. A series of loud roars heralded the arrival of a large group of orks emerging from the between the blackened trunks of a cluster of large trees. Although they looked battered and wounded they charged at the Catachan line with undiminished enthusiasm firing their automatic weapons with wild abandon.

Quickly Shub dropped on one knee and opened fire together with the first rank of his squad. As instructed they had set their weapons setting on its highest setting as orks were notoriously tough and hard to kill. Salvo after salvo of controlled and well placed las fire cut into the approaching orks cutting several of them down. A guardsman to Shubs left was hurled backwards crying out in pain as a large calibre shell tore off his arm at the shoulder. The indicator rune on his carbine flashed empty and Shub removed the empty power cell and reached for a fresh one. While the first rank reloaded the second rank of Guardsmen took over their firing positions and unleashed their own volley of fire.

Massed fire was wreaking havoc amongst the orks but they closed the distance at a rapid pace. As the distance became shorter the return fire of the orks became more effective with Catachans being hit left and right. Shub had just finished reloading when the first pair of orks were almost upon their position, wicked looking axes raised for the attack.

With a low whooshing sound Letman, the squads weapons specialist, opened up with his flamethrower dousing the onrushing orks in blazing promethium. Screaming and flailing the closest orks tumbled to the ground, their flesh being burnt off their bones by the adhesive chemical mixture.

Several others, shielded by their unfortunate kin, pushed on however, and within moments the defensive line devolved into a vicious melee. First to die was the unfortunate Letman who received an axe-strike to his chest that caused a bloody ruin. In his death throes he kept his finger clutched around the trigger sending several more orks to a fiery death before succumbing to his injuries.

Next a Catachan from 4th squad fell to the ground his skull split open by a powerful overhead blow before he could drop his carbine and raise his blade. The droplets of blood struck Shubs face as he fired his weapon into the orks at point blank range. An ork wielding an oversized pistol in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other was hurled back as Shubs las shots vaporized his skull.

The indicator rune blinked empty. Shub threw his carbine to the ground and drew 'Ender' the blade he had crafted with his own hands. All around him orks and Catachans were hacking, dodging and killing in a frenzied orgy of destruction. Despite being physically smaller than the lumbering orks the Catachans were more than a match for their foes. Faster and smaller they ducked between blows to deliver deadly strikers with their blades.

A sense of rage filled Shub from deep within. A primal urge to kill and lay waste to his enemies. A large ork punched his spiked gauntlet into the face of an already wounded Catachan sending a spray of blood and several teeth flying. Shubs pulse slowed for a moment as his heart skipped a beat. A crimson haze formed in front of him colouring the surroundings and lending a macabre sensation to the already terrible vista. Screams of dying men echoed in his head as something snapped.

With a cry born of indignation and the need for vengeance he raised his eyes to the sky. The roar was so primal, so terrible in its wrath that even the orks and Catachans nearby stopped for a moment, distracted by a threat they knew deep in their hearts was far greater.

A nearby Nob, an ork leader, was the first to snap out of the spell. With a roared challenge the massive creature charged at Shub, Powerklaw raised to destroy his foe. Launching himself Shub hurtled towards the two and a half metre tall greenskin with blinding speed yelling an archaic battle-cry in high gothic. Before the Nob even had the chance to swing his oversized power weapon Shub had struck out with his augmetic hand ramming it into the orks skull, shattering bone and muscle and plunging straight through to smash the creature's brain to a pulp. The dead ork toppled over and Shub dropped to the ground, his hand still dripping with gore.

Shubs breathing was laboured and his body seemed to shudder with barely contained energy. His gaze was heavy with the promise of death. Nearby Catachans stood in bewildered awe and even some orks were stunned that a tiny human could have so brutally slaughtered one of their leaders.

Slowly Shubs lips pulled back in a wolfish grin as he lifted '_Ender_'

"Now, in the name of the Emperor, you will all die"


	20. Chapter 20 XI Blood

Chapter 20 XI Blood!

**Mung, forward regimental command-post of the Catachan 105****th**** infantry**

The groans of the wounded and dying blended with the sounds of supply shipments being prepared for transport to the advancing front line. Guardsmen and Munitorum workers lifted crates filled with energy cells, rations, and medical supplies while rumbling chimera transports stood waiting.

Colonel Ales stood over a tactical map spread on a square wooden table as his aides and advisors milled about the command tent directing the movements and workings of an Imperial Guard Regiment. The low hum of a generator formed the backdrop over the din of constantly incoming vox transmission.

The advance had been proceeding as planned so far; the artillery did a fine job of supressing the orks and the infantry advancing behind the barrage were clear to engage the enemy without having to worry about fortified or entrenched defensive positions. Ales rumbled contently as the pieces representing Imperial forces were moved forward on the map.

"Colonel, B Company reports massed ork infantry engaging their forward positions." A Vox-operator reported.

The Colonel nodded grimly, a large group of Orks engaging at close range could lead to mayhem in the front ranks and possibly stall the advance. Something that could not be allowed to happen.

"Acknowledged, allow B Company to fall back by Platoon and rotate D Company forward."

Ales ordered. This was a standard procedure to allow a damaged Company some time to get their wounded out and re-establish positioning and command structure.

"Umm, Colonel Sir, That might not be necessary." The same vox-operator said sheepishly.

Colonel Ales stopped studying the map and walked over to the workstation where the vox-operator monitored the incoming transmissions on the Catachan Vox-net. Nearby a commissar clad in the iconic black greatcoat and cap let his hand drop to the holster of his Bolt-pistol.

"What do you mean? That might not be necessary. Are you disobeying my orders private?"

The Catachan Colonel fumed.

"No Sir, but B Company seems to be pushing the orks back and, I quote, "slaughtering them"

The Regimental commissar, a silent and grim fellow named Palther, sauntered closer, his interest piqued.

"Who is in command of that Company?"

Colonel Ales checked his data-slate before answering.

"That would be Major Gander, a good man and a veteran of several campaigns"

Palther nodded, his face unreadable.

"I will look into this matter myself."

**Mung, the front line**

Shub was a maelstrom of violent motion moving through the ork ranks like a farmer harvesting his crops. Everywhere he went ork blood fountained and greenskins fell to the ground, dead or dying. In his wake the Catachans followed, galvanized by his incredible display of skill and ferocity. In minutes the orks were scattered and finished leaving Shub to stand panting in a circle of slain enemies, covered from head to toe in ork blood and viscera.

A circle of Catachans had formed around him but no one dared to speak or approach yet as Shub still shuddered with barely contained fury. In his mind's eye Shub stood upon a vastly different battlefield surrounded by enemies, with his fallen brothers lying broken around him. The skies were filled with great gothic battleships, titanic in proportion, disgorging thousands of dropships. The very air was filled with the need for violence and war and his blade yearned to heed the call.

Sergeant Lex was the first to break the silence.

"Shub, you ok?"

The young man did not seen to hear, his eyes fixed on some impossibly distant vista.

"Private, it is over, the orks are all dead"

Slowly and painfully Shub came back to awareness of his surroundings. His muscles and ligaments ached and every part of his body felt stretched nearly to the breaking point. His heart thundered in his chest and he only now seemed to realize the state he was in. Blinking a few times he looked at Lex and mumbled.

"Hmmkay Sarge. I'm fine"

Lex stepped up to Shub and looked him in the eyes.

"Fine? Damn kid! You sure you are not from Catachan? You make some of our wildlife seem meek!"

That broke the awkward spell over the rest of the Guardsmen and several of them cracked some jokes as they moved on.

Still, Shub was scared. Scared of the implications of such a level of loss of control. Clearly his strange abilities were intensifying, changing. He shuddered to think of what might come next. What if he did not 'snap out of it' next time? If he lost himself in this strange mix of vision, memory, and thoughts not his own. He looked at the circle of butchered orks again and at _Ender_ its serrated edge coated in blood.

**Mung, front line camp 4 hours later **

The Catachan camp near the frontline was a Spartan but functional place. Efficiently erected shelters for the night and small fires to warm food offered a temporary haven for the exhausted Catachan Guardsmen. Near one of the command posts the infantry of B Company stood arrayed in disciplined rows.

Shub stood as straight and still as a pillar, his hands forming the Aquila across his chest as Commissar Palther paced in front of his squad. The sight of a Commissar on the frontline was always something to inspire fear in the troops. With the recent 'incident' Shub had even more reason to be fearful. The pale man in his black greatcoat stopped in front of Shub and brushed an imaginary fleck of dust off his uniform. When he finally spoke it was with a tone of absolute authority.

"Attacking orks in a frontal close combat assault is reckless and a quick way to a messy death. The average ork is larger, stronger, and tougher than a human. Nevertheless it is our sacred duty to destroy the enemies of the Emperor, however large, strong, or tough they might be. You managed to push them back, destroy the enemy, and rally the platoon to your side."

He looked Shub in the eyes as if to judge his character.

"You acted in a way exemplary of a warrior in the name of the God-Emperor and will be recognized for your heroic example"

"Regimental command has decided to reward your bravery with a battlefield promotion. You have been awarded the rank of Corporal and the Mung campaign medal of valour. "

Palther pinned a colourful piece of metal on Shubs uniform before making the sign of the Aquila and nodding to the new Corporal.

After the commissar had left Sergeant Lex walked over to Shub and slapped him on the back.

"Congratulations Corporal Shub, you're one of the big boys now." The grizzled Catachan said with a grin.

Despite this unexpected and downright favourable outcome Shub could not help but notice some the glances the Catachans gave him as they sauntered back to their positions.

**Hera Fortress, Macragge**

The two commanders walked side by side in a meeting that would have been monumental if it had ever become public knowledge. A sleek, heavily armoured transport escorted by a flight of Ultramar Interceptors had delivered its important guest at one of the tertiary landing-pads an hour earlier. Escorted through various hidden passages by a Major Domo, a quick and hidden meeting of brothers in arms had been arranged. Both veterans of centuries of war and commanding the utter loyalty of hundreds if not thousands of genetically engineered super-warriors, they represented the very pinnacle of martial prowess and leadership in the Imperium of Man.

One was clad in a suit of power armour forged by the most skilled artisans of Mars. Its black and yellow ceramite plates were covered with hand-written purity seals and a symbol of a black armoured gauntlet. A massive storm shield and thunder-hammer were slung across his back, each far too heavy to be even lifted by a normal man. His face spoke of a wellspring of patience and wisdom and a harsh life of service to the God-Emperor. He stood patiently, his arms folded across his chest in a gesture of calm certainty and conviction.

The other wore a fabled suit of aquamarine artificer armour marked with golden laurels and the proud heraldry of the XIII legion. A velvet red cloak covered his back as his massive steps resounded from the hard stone floor of his private chambers in the Fortress of Hera. The face of the supreme ruler of Ultramar was set in an expression of concern mirrored by his pacing.

"Vorn, I am troubled by the implications of this project of the high lords." Calgar spoke at last. The Chapter Master of the Ultramarines paused as he studied a tapestry depicting the Emperor and Robout Guiliman meeting for the first time.

"They are meddling with forces beyond their ken. Forces even our beloved fathers did not fully understand."

"I agree Marneus. It took the Emperor all his skill and millennia of knowledge and gathering of resources to complete his great project. Who are we, mere mortals, even though elevated greatly above common humanity, to deign to continue his great endeavour?" Vorn Hagen, Chapter Master of the Imperial Fists replied, his voice like ancient rocks grinding against each other.

Marneus Calgar stood still for a moment, lost in his thoughts, before speaking again.

"I have been told our brother in gold did not take the news well. His chapter has ever been fanatically devoted to their Primarch and his men carry his fervour and anger at his fate with them even to this day."

Vorn Hagen sighed ruefully:"Dante will not be joining us then?"

"He will not Vorn, he is enraged at this meddling with our ancestry and is determined to put a stop to it. I fear we will have to move soon if we are to prevent a disastrous schism"

**Mung Frontline, Camp B Company**

Using a blade that looked like a toothpick compared to some of the other blades used by the jungle warriors the Catachan veteran sliced the edible roots in chunks and added them to the metal container suspended over a small fire. Already several indigenous herbs and berries inhabited the water together with chunks of some local species of arboreal rodent. The smell of hot fragrant broth wafted about the camp.

Shub sat on the trunk of a fallen tree staring at the darkness gloomily as the smells of the various cooking fires enticed him with their wonderful scent. B Company had lost some men but far less than could be expected from a direct assault into ork territory. In fact the whole advance had made great progress in the first day leading to a general sense of optimism in the regiment.

Shubs mood was grim for several reasons however. His recent 'incident' had been a wake-up call. Loss of control on that scale could only lead to a messy death eventually. If not by the hands of the orks than surely the Imperial authorities would notice such aberrant behaviour and send someone to investigate. Additionally; the advance was going too well in his opinion. Orks were prone to seek out the biggest and nearest fight and commit to it with great abandon. Several Imperial Guard Regiments advancing should work as a great red arrow leading the xenos to them.

This had not been the case so far. Groups of ork infantry had assaulted them on various occasions and the fighting had been bloody but at no moment during the advance had the Catachans encountered the expected level of resistance. Something about this situation rankled Shub and there was a nagging sensation of impending doom without a clearly discernible cause to pinpoint.

The hulking form of Aurum slipped through the darkness quietly and settled an arms-length from Shub leaning against the log. He reached over to hand a cup of broth to Shub, his expression unreadable in the near darkness.

"Thanks Aurum" Shub muttered as he sipped the piping hot liquid; it tasted of exotic spice and had a delicious floral quality to it. Chunks of succulent meat and tender vegetables made it infinitely more enjoyable than the Munitorum rations who generally looked like industrial waste product and tasted much the same.

"You are troubled by what happened today." Aurum stated matter of factedly.

"You feel like you are not in control and fear you will be shunned by the rest of the regiment"

Shub took another sip of the broth and nodded.

Aurum looked into the light of the cooking fire several metres away.

"Back on Catachan we are raised with death. Everything back home is deadly; the plants, the insects, the wildlife, the climate, even the people." "We are taught to expect death to come for us at any moment and spit it in the face laughing."

"There are some who suffer such loss; friends, family, loved ones, that, despite our experience with hardship, they no longer care for life. They take their blades, mark themselves with war-paint and head into the darkest part of the jungle to seek out death itself."

The Catachan paused for a moment to light a Lho-stick.

"I have seen these men and women. Their eyes are fixed on something only they can see and they fight as if they are cornered predators. They will often slay many dangerous foes before succumbing to injury or fatigue. "

"Only one in a thousand ever returns alive, but when they do they have been relieved of the burden on their souls. By seeking out death itself they have settled the score and are free to continue their lives. We call this 'to be cleansed in blood'

The sounds of night in the jungle provided a background of chirping and croaking as the two men; one orphan and one veteran of a death-world sat in contemplation. Clouds of smoke drifted lazily towards the jungle canopy.

"You must look into your heart and see what score there is to settle and then move on Corporal"

Aurum tapped Shub on his shoulder on the spot where the Catachan Skull had been tattooed. "Know that you have proven yourself as a friend of Catachan and we consider you our blood. "

With those final words Aurum slipped silently into the darkness again leaving Shub to wonder at his current situation.

**Mung, western edge of the Ork held valley**

A wedge shaped formation of lumbering Imperial tanks advanced implacably across an undulating landscape dotted with the occasional grouping of trees and shrubs. Ahead the vast jungle-filled valley stretched out, its vibrant green canopy hiding whatever lurked underneath. A large broad slope led into the valley spanning wide enough to allow up to five Leman Russ Battle tanks to make the descent side by side.

Colonel Inzangh and his 22nd armoured regiment were something of an anomaly in the multitude of Imperial Guard Regiments hailing from the death world of Catachan. With its dense jungles and often impassable terrain Catachan was not well suited for the use of large armoured vehicles. Nevertheless the 22nd armoured had forged a reputation for itself as a fast and hard-hitting force capable of dealing with difficult terrain and manoeuvring even through dense foliage. Each Leman Russ Battle tank had been modified with increased engine power and fitted with a sharpened 'prow' that functioned as a ram to clear any obstacles and vegetation obstructing its path.

"Colonel we are approaching the edge of the slope leading into the valley, scouts report no Ork activity." The Catachan aide had to shout to make himself heard over the sound of the rushing wind and the din created by dozens of Leman Russ Battle tanks moving at cruising speed.

Colonel "Panther" Inzangh stood in the cupola of his command tank and surveyed the ordered advance of his armoured regiment. The man's skin had the texture and complexion of weathered leather, the result of countless hours spent under harsh conditions. His Catachan-style uniform showed no easily discernible sign of his rank but to an experienced observer the number and detail of his tattoos spoke volumes.

"Move the Hellhounds to the front and start clearing a path" Inzangh ordered his aide as he squinted at the valley. Despite the powerful force at his command the veteran commander knew the limitations of his tanks. Moving them into a dense jungle, even with the assistance of the Hellhound flamethrowers was not something he relished.

Belching clouds of black smoke a group of six ugly blocky tanks moved forward and down the slope. The barrels of their turret mounted weapons lighting up ominously like slumbering dragons waiting to roast their prey. As they reached the wall of vegetation the Hellhound cannons opened fire and unleashed great jets of burning promethium devastating the jungle in a broad path.

_Hellhound crew are considered quite insane by Imperial Guard standards. Entombing themselves regularly in what amounts to an enormous mobile container of highly flammable liquid, most Hellhound crewmembers have a rather loose grasp of the concept of self-preservation. The majority of them can be easily distinguished by the many burns and general discolouration of the skin from time spent too close to a raging inferno. Most of them take to shaving their heads and smoking large reeking cigars, even in the midst of battle. Nevertheless they are a welcome sight to the Guardsmen manning the great Battle tanks of the Imperium as they excel in flushing out infantry that could otherwise threaten the advancing armour._

**Mung, clearing outside the crashed Ork Rokk**

Glowering Tuzla sat in the open turret of his custom battlewagon. His finger crept closer to the trigger of the enormous kannon he had crafted personally. A large group of Killa Kans milled about noisily trying to stay out of the reach of the three Deff Dreads that towered over them. Two dozen Ork buggies revved their engines impatiently as they exchanged challenges and insults with the Boyz loaded up in the six Trukks. Over a hundred more ramshackle vehicles loaded to the brim with Orks waited impatiently for their warboss to give the command.

Waiting did not come naturally to the warboss and usually heads got smashed when Tuzla got impatient. Just as the enormous ork looked around for a convenient Gretchin to kill his Speakah system erupted in activity conveying the voice of an overexcited grot over a distance of several kilometres.

"Boss, Boss, da humies is comin into dah valley, just as you said"

With a feral grin Tuzla smacked the yellow button deactivating the orkish communication device.

"Boyz! Its time we got ourselves a good fight!" firing his kannon into the air wildly Tuzla cried out at the top of his lungs: "Waaaaaaaghhhhhhh!"

His warcry was echoed as hundreds of Ork vehicles revved their engines. At the very front of the army several large _Bonecruncha_ tanks lumbered forward smashing trees and other plants to small bits with their spiked _Dethrolla's _


	21. Chapter 21 XII Hammer

Chapter 21 XII Hammer

**7th army group forward artillery camp**

A cloud of steam went up in the air as the bucket of water hit the nearly overheated barrel of the Earth Shaker cannon. The smell of accelerant hung heavy in the air mixed with a fine haze of dust as shell after shell was hurled towards some distant enemy. Crews communicated in sign language, a stripped down and adapted version of the Catachan battle-cant. The batteries had been firing almost continuously for two days stopping only to rotate materiel and crew out for much needed rest. Many of the loaders suffered burns as they reloaded the searing hot cannons. Large mounds of empty casings lay piled nearby: a testament to the volume of ordnance being expended.

'Lasguns win fights, Guardsmen win battles, but Artillery wins wars' was a common saying amongst the hardy men and women toiling away at their guns. Despite their distance from the front their job was still a tough one involving backbreaking labour, the constant thunder of cannons firing and the danger of a technical mishap resulting in a premature detonation or misfire.

The Earth shaker batteries of the 2nd artillery battalion, though far from any foe, were not left unguarded. Several reinforced eagles nests with Heavy Bolters and crew were located in a roughly rectangular perimeter. Long coils of razor-wire prevented access and the ground had been seeded with a variety of mines. Several squads of Catachan guardsmen patrolled the area or performed maintenance on their gear.

Captain Ordell was seated in his tent and reviewed the ammunition expenditure reports and sent the appropriate requisitioning documents to the Adeptus Munitorum. His crews had pushed hard to keep up the relentless creeping barrage ordered by Army HQ and were doing a great job. Friendly fire and malfunction were minimal. With some luck they could finish the orks and be off this planet in a week or two.

The only thing working against them was some minor seismic activity that required additional targeting calibration for the Earth Shaker machine spirits. Even so performance had been exemplary and he had received praise from his liaison at Army command.

Beaming, Ordell lit a fat cigar as he leaned back in his seat.

**Mung, Catachan 7****th**** army group main battle line**

Shub swatted another stinging mosquito against his neck leaving a red stain. The heat seemed even more oppressive today and his current predicament only added to his discomfort. The jungle ahead of him was a maze of blasted and toppled trees mixed with enormous craters and patches of burnt vegetation. The artillery had done their job only partially however; a series of crudely constructed bunkers had survived the shelling and still housed a sizeable group of heavily armed orks. The xenos hooted and hollered and occasionally fired bursts of automatic fire towards the Catachan infantry line that had ground to a halt here. The only feasible approach to the bunkers was a rubble strewn slope offering nearly no cover except for a few large trees that remained standing: a death-trap for any infantry assault. Word had filtered down from Company command that they needed to break through fast to keep up pace with the rest of the line and prevent a gap being created in their assault. Shub and his squad, together with 3d and 4th squad had been chosen to clear out the bunkers.

The majority of their Company lay in wait behind the cover of a series of rolling hills while the smaller force attempted to eliminate the ork threat. Time was of the essence so a protracted engagement was not an option. Lying in the stinking clinging mud Shub had inched close enough to the ork held positions to analyse their defences and devise a plan of attack. The three ork bunkers were ugly and crude but undeniably effective. Thick plates of metal riveted in place with iron bolts lashed unto some form of inner framework. Firing ports offered the green skins a good view of the surrounding area while protecting them from most small arms fire. Even the heavier weaponry failed to penetrate the thick armour and setting up a shot under the withering automatic fire was proving very dangerous. The bunkers housed at least one heavier version of the Ork automatic cannons each, as was demonstrated by the numerous still smoking craters dotting the landscape. The orks were nothing if not enthusiastic in the expenditure of ammunition.

Shub crawled back to where Drake huddled behind cover together with Lex, Nerko and Galfry the sergeants of 2nd 3d and 4th squad. A large rock kept them out of sight of the trigger-happy orks. Even from this distance they could overhear the xenos arguing in their foul language.

"We need to get close to that bunker on the right side" Shub pointed out the bunker on a tactical map he had drawn in the dirt. "Once we clear that one we will have enough cover to move to the other ones with minimal enemy fire."

Sergeant Nerko, the NCO put in charge of the mission, looked sceptically at the map and the angle of approach.

"There is too much open space leading up to it. We will be picked off by sheer volume of fire before we reach the bunker."

Shub smiled confidently

"Not to worry, I have a plan. All I need is 2 krak grenades, a flamer and a distraction"

Lex groaned

"Why did I know you were going to say something like that...?"

**Mung, 172****nd**** Catachan left flank**

The scouts of the 172nd Catachan infantry moved through the jungle in total silence, each man comfortable in the humid jungle that was a far cry from the lethal environment of their home world. Making optimal use of the abundant cover the guardsmen moved in carefully rehearsed patterns providing overlapping fields of fire and multiple eyes on every possible direction from which a threat might emerge. Motioning with his free hand the lead scout stopped in his tracks and dropped to the ground, something having alerted his acute senses. Leaving the rest of his squad behind the man crept slowly through the creeping vines and thick ferns taking over ten minutes to traverse the distance to the spot that had caught his attention.

The faint lingering smell of fuel and freshly welded metal registered before his nose caught the scent of freshly disturbed earth and explosives. Inching forward he slowly brushed some vegetation aside to discover a perplexing sight.

A broad path had been cleared in the jungle, stretching back as far as the eye could see but more vexing, terminating in a gradual slope that led into a recently created cavern that stretched into a tunnel deeper into the earth. The scout called for the rest of his squad to join him and crouched to study the multitude of tracks. He picked up a handful of dirt and inhaled deeply.

"Ork vehicles. Lots of them. They went into this tunnel they created."

The scout looked troubled. He motioned for the squads' vox-operator.

"Call it in, HQ needs to know, Emperor knows where these Orks have gone."

**Mung, Catachan 7****th**** army group main battle line**

Shub calculated the distances and angles again and readjusted the fuel-tank for the flamer on his back. In order for his plan to work everything needed to be just right. On the left flank a squad of Catachans opened fire on the Ork Bunkers, sending volleys of poorly aimed las fire to catch their attention. As the Orks replied with their usual violent enthusiasm Shub sprinted the 40 meters to the first tree on his route to the eastern most bunker. Taking care to keep the tree between him and the Green skins he managed to get to it before he was spotted. He primed his first Krak grenade and attached it to the base of the tree trunk, stepped back and covered his ears.

With a loud bang the explosive shattered most of the tree on one side causing the arboreal giant to topple and fall at an angle towards the eastern bunker but still providing cover from their fire. Even as the tree fell Shub sprinted onwards priming his second grenade while the rest of the Catachans moved forward using the cover of the fallen tree. Hurling the grenade into the soft mud in front of the bunker Shub averted his eyes while continuing his push forward.

The orks had taken notice of the new assault and were even now shifting fire causing puffs of dirt and mud to erupt as solid slugs impacted all around Shub. One round grazed the young man as he rushed forward, opening a bleeding gash on his left arm. The second grenade exploded sending a fountain of earth into the air and splattering enormous amounts of mud all around. The Orks, blinded temporarily, bellowed in rage and fired blindly.

With a final burst of speed Shub hurled himself at the bunker flattening himself against the metal plates, out of sight of the firing slits. Panting he inspected his injury and judged it to be superficial enough to warrant later treatment. With a flick of a switch he ignited the flame on his weapon, thrust the barrel into a firing slit and pressed the trigger for a period of four seconds. The viscid promethium ignited and coated everything inside the bunker with blazing fuel. Orks screamed in pain as they were cooked almost instantly and after mere seconds the incredible heat set off ammunition in a chain reaction. Shub barely had time to sprint for cover before the bunker went up in a fireball sending pieces of burning debris all around.

Using the explosion as their que the rest of the Catachans moved forward in an ordered assault on the second bunker, providing covering fire for each other and distracting the Orks from Shub who was already circling around to repeat his actions on the second bunker. Within minutes all three bunkers had been reduced to blazing ruins and only two Catachans had been injured, suffering minor wounds from shrapnel.

Covered in soot, mud, and pieces of vegetation Shub walked up to Lex with a wide grin,

"Piece of cake Sergeant"

Sergeant Lex attempted to supress a grin and failed miserably

**7th army group forward artillery camp**

A tremor rattled the small wooden table next to Captain Ordell causing his canteen to fall and spill its contents over the floor.

"Did you feel that?" Ordell inquired rhetorically as his aides looked up from their vox-stations in surprise.

The Captain picked up the canteen and gently replaced it on the table. He frowned and moved the table to its original place again.

"Send out word to the batteries to recalibrate firing solutions. Again." A tone of irritation had crept into his voice. Ordell was a perfectionist and did not relish unexpected external influences.

The vox-operators punched in the codes and started relaying orders to the firing teams.

"And get in touch with the Magus at Army Command and try to get some more information on the seismic activity. It's messing with our firing performance."

Outside the crews readjusted the angle and elevation on their Earth Shaker cannons again while the supporting squads of Guardsmen scanned the surrounding area for any hostile forces. As one of the Catachan sergeants put his magnoculars to his eyes to inspect the road leading to the artillery base he was thrown of his feet by another, much stronger, tremor.

"What the..." The man could just growl before the ground a few metres in front of him exploded in a fountain of earth sending a group of Catachans flying through the air. A loud mechanical grinding noise erupted from the ground as a monstrous mechanical construct emerged; the front end was over 7 metres wide and made up of a series of interlocking drills and saws fit with jagged teeth and grinding implements that cut up rock and ground as if it were soft mud.

Snapping into action the Sergeant shouted orders and the squads around him fell into a disciplined firing pattern sending a hail of las bolts into the intruder.

With a violent lurch the construct heaved itself out of its own tunnel lurching forward on a series of tracks. As soon as it cleared the tunnel hatches on its side were flung open and a large mob of ork boyz charged out into the open firing their shootas with great abandon. The first dozen greenskins to emerge were cut down mercilessly but there were too many to contain. Within seconds groups of orks were engaging the Catachans in brutal short ranged firefights, closing in for melee.

The sound of blaring horns and claxons heralded the appearance of more Ork vehicles from the tunnel: War buggies, trukks, and all sorts of walkers spilled out immediately opening fire on the Catachans and struggling amongst each other to reach the best position at the front of the fighting. A salvo of rockets spiralled into a Heavy Bolter position causing a massive explosion and sending the Catachan gunners to a gruesome death.

Captain Ordell in the meanwhile had lost no time in taking action. Shouting orders into the vox caster he checked the ammo in his stub revolver, a quaint piece he kept out of sentimental value, and put on his flak helmet. The Earth Shaker crew, alerted by their Captain were pushing to turn their cannons towards the orks who were only two hundred metres away. Men turned gears as quickly as possible to lower the barrels in order to open fire. Three crew members erupted in a cloud of pink mist and shredded flesh as a Deff Dread walked a salvo of large calibre automatic fire across their position. Another group of Catachans hurrying to chamber a new projectile died instantly as a Kannon shell exploded near their Artillery piece.

The remaining Earth Shaker cannons unleashed a volley at the approaching mob of ork vehicles and walkers. Several shots went wide, firing directly at this distance was vastly different from the calculated bombardment of targets, but the rest found their targets cutting through swathes of orks before detonating groups of Killa kans and other vehicles. Quickly the crews moved to reload again, backs straining under the weight of moving the heavy munition.

Warboss Tuzla roared with delight as he emptied the ammo hopper of his Big Shoota into a group of Catachans firing their lasguns at his custom battlewagon. The humans popped and burst with satisfying squishy sounds and he quickly scanned his surroundings for another fight to pick. In the distance the majority of his armoured vehicles were racing towards the humans big cannons who had just unleashed such destruction. All around him the few remaining humans were being slaughtered in close combat even though they managed to take a few of his boyz down with them.

"C'mon boyz! Give it to 'em!" He hollered even though they needed little encouragement. A pack of Killa-kans was busy merrily hacking and sawing their way through some of the last Catachans while a mob of boyz was torching the last of the sandbag-reinforced positions. Tuzla glowered; this was easy, too easy for his violent mind. The great orks bloodshot eyes squinted against the flames and explosions and fell on a series of tents situated some distance away. A group of humans was running about trying to set up a defensive position. They even had some heavy weapons set up. Just what he was looking for.

With a smash against a mechanical lever he urged the battlewagon towards, the hulking vehicle belching smoke as it accelerated. Several gretchins tried to move out of the lumbering vehicles way but not all succeeded ending their miserable lives in just another red wet patch on the gro. und. Tuzla bellowed an order to the other orks manning the wagon and they started replacing the ammo-hopper for the automatic shoota.

"I repeat, a major ork mechanized force has just emerged from the ground and is destroying the artillery. Be advised: the enemy is behind our lines. Making our last stand now. For the Emperor and Terra! Ordell out."

Captain Ordell put down the voxcaster and looked at the two dozen men gathered near him. Most of them were desk jockeys with only basic Imperial Guard training. At least every one of them knew how to fire a lasgun. He had set them on the task to prepare their defences as best as possible while he called in the situation to Army HQ. Now that was done all that was left to them was to die and take as many of the enemy with them. Looking around Ordell saw scared faces some even terrified. But he also saw determination and hatred.

"Captain, one of the bigger vehicles has broken off from the pack and is heading for us. The gun crews are surely dead now, they were overrun a minute ago." One of the youngest clerks reported. The boy clutched his lasgun nervously as he pointed to a huge ramshackle vehicle that was moving towards them with increasing speed.

Ordell ducked behind the barricade fabricated out of overturned tables and Munitorum supply crates. He drew his Stub revolver and made sure it was ready to fire.

"Time to make them bleed men; heavy weapons team open fire, aim for the wheels"

The pair of Guardsmen manning the Autocannon sprang into action and the long-barrelled semi-automatic weapon unleashed a deafening roar as it fired bursts of heavy armour-piercing rounds at the ork vehicle. Several glanced of its front armour but one managed to score a hit tearing off an armour plate that promptly decapitated two orks hanging from the side.

The men cheered but were immediately forced to duck behind cover when the ork Battlewagon opened fire with a multitude of guns raking their area with automatic fire. Two of the clerks died messy deaths when the solid slugs ripped through their flimsy cover and tore gaping holes in their bodies. They died almost instantaneously from shock and severe blood loss. The remaining Guardsmen took pot shots over the barricade trying to stay out of the severe orkish weight of fire.

Captain Ordell pulled the pin on a Krak-grenade and prepared himself to hurl it at the ork vehicle that was now dangerously close to their position.

"Covering fire!" He shouted and the remaining Guardsmen unleashed a salvo of las fire.

The Captain got up to throw the grenade only to see a salvo of missiles heading straight for his position. The last sensation Ordell experienced was that of terror and ear shattering noise before his world turned to fire and all was still.

Satisfied Tuzla released the trigger of his hull-mounted Rokkit launcher. The defensive position of the humans had been reduced to a blackened crater surrounded by debris and dead bodies, or parts of dead bodies. The fighting had ended with the bigger orks moving about taking trophies and loot. The warboss grunted some orders to his Gretchin communicators who started waving a pair of coloured flags to signal the warboss' orders to the rest of the mob. Within minutes the orks had started disassembling the Imperial artillery and other materiel they could find.

**Mung, Catachan 7****th**** army group main battle line**

"The guns. They've stopped." Shub stopped in his tracks for a moment and cocked his head. Indeed the near constant, rhythmic sound of artillery fire had ceased. Along the advancing line of infantry the other squads took notice of the absence of the artillery barrage as well.

"Must be resupply issues, don't worry kid just means less chance of getting ourselves fragged by a friendly fire 'incident'" Aurum quipped as he moved past Shub.

The tropical heat had coated Shubs skin in sweat and his uniform had been soaked since early morning. His skin was covered in dozens of insect bites and he had to constantly take sips from his canteen to stay hydrated. He gazed along the line of advancing infantry and their surroundings. As they moved forward at a steady pace they moved from the torn up jungle into the more pristine parts of the valley where the creeping barrage had not yet caused destruction and havoc. His senses were working overtime as Shub tried to register all the different sights, smells, and sounds. Exotic cloying scents from brightly coloured flowers. The chirping and croaking of various small animals in the ponds of water and pools of mud. A few metres away a yellow bird with a curved beak perched on a branch and snapped at clusters of red berries. Even as Shub marvelled at its bright plumage the bird spread its wings and quickly flew off.

Shub could not see what had disturbed the bird but soon he saw more birds flying in the same direction quickly followed by groups of small animals scurrying across the forest floor. They all appeared to be heading in the same direction as if fleeing.

"Somethings is wrong" Aurum commented, the grizzled scout glanced about. More creatures were joining their kin in a headlong rush away from the direction in which the Catachans were heading.

Shub nodded, a sense of impending danger caused the hairs on his arms and neck to stand up. A faint whiff of something… alien, reached his nose.

"Orks are coming, lots of them." He whispered.

Aurum sniffed the air as well. Motioning swiftly he called their vox-operator over.

"Call for a halt to the advance and pass on the order to dig in and fortify ASAP"

The operator paused briefly but spread the word, trusting the judgement of the veteran scout.

All across the line squads, platoons and companies ground to a halt: quickly constructing makeshift barricades and filling sandbags to form protective cover for the heavy weapons. Catachan scouts went to work with lightning speed to construct pits fitted with sharpened spikes, tripwires attached to frag grenades, and place logs and rocks into place to form a natural funnel.

"Why in the name of he who sits on the Golden Throne has the advance stopped?"

Commissar Palther was nearly fuming. With sweat pouring off his scarred face he stalked the lines looking for the officer responsible for the unacceptable delay. He gripped his Bolt pistol tightly sending Catachans scurrying out of his way with his fierce gaze. When he finally found the culprits they were discussing placement of heavy weapons in a hushed tone.

Colonel Ales looked up from his data slate and eyed the Commissar. The Catachan officer looked unfazed at the appearance of the enraged representative of the Commissariat.

"Commissar Palther, how are you this fine day?"

The scarred man disabled the safety on his Bolt Pistol and stood in front of Colonel Ales.

"I asked: Why has the advance halted? We have orders to move further into the valley, any deviation from that order is paramount to treachery and punishable by death."

Ales sighed and straightened his back. Around him his squad of veterans payed close attention, their grips on their Las guns firm and ready to act at any moment.

"Our scouts reported a large force of orks moving towards us. Tactica Imperials dictates the forming of a defensive line. Running headlong into a large mob of orks will do nothing to serve the Emperors cause Palther."

The commissar spat on the ground still holding his Bolt Pistol.

"This reeks of cowardice, how can you even know there are orks coming in this throne forsaken jungle?"

The Colonel nodded in the direction of some of the Catachans manning the defensive line.

"Our scouts have been prowling far worse jungles than these since they were old enough to walk. They are capable of tracking Catachans many predators by scent alone and I trust their judgement."

Colonel Ales stepped towards Palther, towering over the much smaller man.

"Now if that is all I have my duty to the God-Emperor to fulfil. And put away that gun before an accident happens."

Commissar Palthers face turned a deep crimson and a vein in his neck started throbbing dangerously. He was about to open his mouth to reply when a series of explosions interrupted him.

"CONTACT!" one of the Catachans yelled and immediately everyone moved to their positions. The Commissar, distracted for the moment, stomped towards the front of the line not deigning to make use of any cover and peered into the jungle ahead.

The thick tangled undergrowth made it hard to see very far and the numberless trees blocked any easy spotting as they reached for the sky with their thickly leafed branches. Soon Palther could hear the first noise; a chittering and rustling noise followed quickly thereafter by the shouts and growls of greenskins. Like a living tide a wave of gretchin and snotlings emerged from the jungle, armed with auto pistols and knives the smaller xenos threw themselves towards the Catachan line.

Palther scowled as he beheld the diminutive xenos; hardly a challenge for the seasoned fighters of the Imperial Guard. Across the line the Catachans opened up with volleys of coordinated las fire, cutting down the creatures in droves. A heavy bolter opened up as well sending dozens of grots to their doom. Yet they kept coming. Hundreds of the xenos pushed on despite suffering horrendous casualties. The front wave was now only several metres from the Catachan line and Palther fired his bolt pistol with well-aimed shots taking out a foe with each mass reactive bolt spent.

It was then that the true orks arrived with a massive shouted Waaaaagh! The first of the xenos erupted from the tree line; armoured, armed to the teeth and each a towering monstrosity. They immediately opened fire on the Catachans caring nothing for their smaller kin. The impact of large calibre rounds caused the ground to erupt in puffs of dirt near Palther and a large explosion threw a squad of Guardsmen into the air like rag dolls. Catachans across the line were already engaging the Grots and Snotlings in close combat fighting; easily dispatching them with their superior knife skills. But every Grot that died tied up another soldier who was unable to bring fire to bear on the Orks who were swiftly approaching. As thousands of Orks charged two full regiments of Catachans the fight was now on.

**Blood Angels Strike Cruiser **_**Red Glaive**_**, in orbit near Baal Secundus**

The ancient war ship's cathedral was enormous, so high that its fresco covered ceiling was clouded by clouds of smoke from the many censers that burnt fragrant incense and spices. Pillars lining the hall were sculpted from white marble resembled great winged warriors clutching great swords. Silent chapter serfs moved hurriedly clad in white robes to attend to the many chores deemed unsuitable for the ships masters. At the very end of the hall a raised platform held a stunning statue seemingly crafted of pure gold depicting a winged, angelic creature in elaborate armour. It stood over 4 metres tall and dwarfed every other occupant of the chapel. Standing in front of it was an honour guard of ten Blood Angels Space Marines positioned behind a Blood Angel commander clad in massive blood red Terminator Armour. First Captain Arenos Karlaen, commander of the Blood Angels 1st company stood regally, his hands resting on the hilt of his master-crafted Thunder Hammer. Commander Dante had requested that he personally supervise the assembly of the force for this mission.

_It is said that each suit of Terminator Armour carries the Crux Terminatus which contains a minute fragment of the Emperors own golden armour, which he wore when he confronted Horus in their climactic battle over Terra. The art of creating new suits of Tactical Dreadnaught Armour is a closely kept secret by a select group of veteran Magi of the Adeptus Mechanicum. To the Blood Angels these suits of armour are sacred beyond reckoning because of their Primarchs involvement and demise during the battle between the Emperor and Horus. They decorate their armour with drops of deep red Gemstone to symbolize their eternal mourning at the passing of Sanguinius. _

In front of him stood the warriors he had hand-picked from the Chapters many capable warriors:

Five Sanguinary guard clad in their distinctive golden artificer power armour stood at attention grasping their ancient Power glaives. Their features were hidden by golden masks but Karlaen knew that each of them was a veteran of hundreds of battles and unswervingly loyal to Emperor and Chapter. Three squads of Tactical Marines stood ready for battle, each of the thirty Astartes armed with a variety of weaponry suited for every foe imaginable. Their armour had been freshly painted and fixed with purity scrolls. Leading the force was Venerable Brother Hematos, a former Librarian of stellar ability who had fallen in battle against the forces of Chaos and had since been interred in a Furioso Dreadnaught Sarcophagus. His massive Force Halberd occasionally crackled with psychic energy and the massive form of his mobile mechanical tomb exuded almost palpable strength of will.

"Brothers, I have chosen you as commanded by Lord Dante himself to undertake this critical mission." Karlaen said; his voice cultured and clear.

"Know that as you embark on this mission, the honour of our chapter hangs in the balance."

Karlaen paused for a moment to let the gravity of his words sink in.

"You are to travel to the Ultima Segmentum to the world of Mung and take into custody the individual designated as 'The Wagner Project'. We currently believe the individual to be enlisted in a regiment of Catachan born Imperial Guard fighting Orks."

"Despite any claims of authority by local forces you will secure our target at all costs, consider anyone opposed to this mission as a threat to be eliminated. However, loss of Imperial assets should be avoided if at all possible."

Karlaen looked at the gathered force sternly:

"Brothers for the Emperor and Sanguinius!"

The assembled Blood Angels echoed the war-cry with the sound echoing throughout the Cathedral.

**This wraps up another chapter of this story. Different threads of fate have been spun and are reaching throughout the galaxy. Some will connect and entwine, some will be severed. Only time will tell (or Tzeentzch and he's hardly reliable) I hope you enjoy it. Updates will follow at my usual slug-like pace: my writing has been said to occur on a timescale usually reserved for tracking the movement of tectonic plates.**

**I appreciate all the followers and reviews: keep 'em coming **** reviews are like blood to a khornate berserker ( or papercuts to a slaaneshi cultist ) Also if you have any requests or detect major flaws in the story or 40k lore feel free to point it out.**


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